An Epiphany Farewell

Here in France, the religious holiday Epiphany has been secularised and is now a month-long celebration that involves eating way too many rich flakey frangipani cakes with friends to wish each other health, happiness, and prosperity for the coming year, happiness being the only wish actually facilitated by eating these cakes. Buzzed by the sugar and anaesthetised by the butter (with a bit of help from the champagne), we recklessly announce our New Year’s resolutions, confident that no one will remember any of it in the morning.

But I distinctly remember saying that I would (a) try to do more things with my left hand, (b) wear more green, and (c) stop blogging.

As with a and b, an end to blogging has been on my mind for awhile and the time seems right to call it quits. We began blogging as a way to keep our nervous friends and families informed of where we were and what we were doing, and to have a sort of scrapbook of memories for ourselves later on. But blogging, even the minimal efforts provided here, takes a toll, especially if you are trying to keep things up to date while you’re actually out there sailing. Many times, it is sheer drudgery to produce something, and the friends and family are informed of our progress through more timely means anyway.

As I plan next year’s cruise, I realize that the resources I use most are sailing community sites like Noonsite (https://www.noonsite.com/) or Navily (https://www.navily.com/), not other people’s blogs. I think my time would be better spent contributing to those sites rather than producing our own blog. I also have become buried under thousands of photos from our adventures (mercifully in digital form) that need cataloguing, editing, and curating into coherent memoirs, all of which takes a lot of time.

Blogging has introduced me to some amazing people who have become friends, both virtual and real, and it’s a strange and heart-warming experience to have people come up to the boat and say “hey, are you the people with the blog?”

Blog statistics tell me that the top stories people access are: Lewmar Wavegrip Winch Maintenance (we no longer have Lewmar winches), NASA Clipper Duet Depth Tranducer, Parts 1 and 2 (we no longer have Clipper electronics), Harken Winch Maintenance, and the post on our gennaker, The Code D, Demystified: Part 1 (for which there is no part 2). It makes me a little queasy to think that people are coming here for technical advice.

And yes, I admit I have been seduced by the dark side - the fast, slick ease of posting to Facebook has won me over. “Never complain, never explain” is all I have to say about that.

When we left work to start sailing almost 10 years ago now, we didn’t know how far we would go or for how long. We now know that our adventures on Mareda will probably end in the Mediterranean after exploring the Adriatic, Greece, and Turkey (which, mind you, could take years). Patrick recently said to me, “Wait a minute. You’re the one who does all the cruise planning. We’re never actually getting to Greece, are we?” We’ll see about that.

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Cruising Season 2018 Wrap-up

Basic stats:

Days on boat: 146

Distance covered: 760 nautical miles

Countries visited: France (Corsica), Italy (Elbe, Sardinia, Egadi Islands, Sicily)

Nights at anchor: 73

Average cost per night: 23 Euros

Motor hours: 100

Sailing vs Motoring: 50% (but most of the motoring was actually motor sailing with the motor purring along gently at 1500 rpms or less)

Cruising expectation failure rate: 30%.

We are getting better at predicting what awaits us each year. The expectations for 2018 that were NOT true were:

1) Crowded and expensive ports in southern Corsica and northeast Sardinia: We simply avoided them. We only had one port in La Maddalena that was pricey, but given that it was in the center of town during June and there was a gale blowing, we felt it was worth it.

2) Using a line ashore to keep from swinging in narrow anchorages: All of the anchorages were large enough that you didn’t need a line ashore. I’m sure we won’t get away with this for much longer.

3) Transportation headaches: While the distance from our winter port to the nearest airport was greater than in previous years, the transportation system was direct and smooth between Licata and Catania. We left a couple of days early to visit Catania before flying home so we didn’t feel rushed.

Honestly, it didn't FEEL this crowded...

Highlights

• Dreamy anchorages everywhere from Elbe island to Sicily, with crystal clear turquoise waters averaging 29 C (84 F).
• Great snorkelling.
• Lots of time anchored out instead of in ports.
• Fantastic weather (except for the stormy period at the end of August, as usual)
• Cultural / historical visits: Elbe (Napoleon), La Maddalena (Garibaldi), Nuraghe settlements in Sardinia, Greek-Phoenician-Roman-Visigoth-Moor settlements near Cagliari, Cave paintings in Levanzo (Egadi Islands) from 12000 BCE, and Greek ruins at Selinunte and the Valley of the Temples at Agrigento in Sicily. We also enjoyed the big cities (Cagliari, Trapani, Palermo, Catania) and many of the smaller towns (particularly liked Marzara del Vallo in Sicily).
• Italian food and wine, although I have to admit that by the end of the season I was ready for a break from pasta.
• And as always, one of the biggest pleasures of cruising is meeting up with old friends and making new ones. We also particularly enjoyed the community atmosphere in Licata with so many live aboards wintering over here. I really hated leaving and may head back later this winter or early spring when I get too boat sick to be civil staying at home. (Patrick would say that time is now, but I still have things to do here first...).

Lowlights

• Dragging at anchor and calling for a tow (in italian) 
• Patrick’s cracked tooth in a tiny Sardinian town on the 15^th of August (biggest vacation period of the year when no one works and everything shuts down)
• A cascade of toilet problems at the end of the cruise.
• Bad non-potable water (all over Sardinia and Sicily) and contaminated tanks.

Wrap-up

Because of health problems, we got a late start on the sailing season and took it very easy this year. We sailed fewer miles than usual and enjoyed the pace, especially because it allowed us to spend many days enjoying beautiful anchorages with no urge to move on until the weather pushed us along. This season gave us a little bit of everything that you want out of Med sailing.

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Winter Port, Licata

We left Mareda in Licata’s Cala del Sole marina yesterday, tied down (I think) for the winter. A few days before we left, a gale blew through the marina with 50 knot gusts and Mareda rode it out smoothly without touching either of the neighbouring boats or the dock, and without too much whining from the springs.

This is the first time we have left the boat in a marina that has a large winter live-aboard community and the atmosphere was friendly and festive. We were sad to leave (more so than usual) and I think I have convinced Patrick that, although Mareda seemed to be tied down well for the winter, we really should head back to check up on her in February.

The re-entry to home life has not been as bad as usual this year, since the Brittany drought mercifully stunted the grass and shrubs, making our hacking-through-the-jungle routine a bit easier. I still have ethical problems with weeding - racism in my opinion, punishing the evolutionary winners, etc. - but Patrick wasn’t buying my philosophical musings and told me to get back to work. I also have problems dislodging the spiders (some quite large and beautiful), since I happen to like spiders and, truth be told, they live here more than we do.

As ever, the mail was stuffed with flyers from real-estate agencies wanting to sell our abandoned house for us. We are still getting used to the house again, trying to remember where we put things and why (the kitchen baffles me for days). I was very happy to be reunited with my bike, unlimited internet, and flush toilets, and we are both thrilled to be eating french food again. We were very disappointed with the bread in Italy, so walking into our neighbourhood bakery this morning was a wonderful welcome home.

And before the dust settles, we are off to Paris at the end of the week and Bordeaux the following week to reintroduce ourselves to the kids. And I’m thrilled to be meeting up with Kiwi sailing friends Viki Moore and Andrew Herriott from Astrolabe Sailing who are passing through Paris at the same time.

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A New Lesson in Anchoring

Is there anything more frustrating than doing a thing "by the book" and still running into trouble ?

We thought we knew everything we needed to know about anchoring : Minimum chain-to-depth ratio of 5:1, put the motor in reverse to dig in the anchor, and use a snubber on the chain to take the strain off the windlass. Our trusty Rocna anchor has held us through 30-knot gusts in all types of holding.

So imagine our idignant surprise last week when, despite having a 10:1 chain-depth ratio in sandy mud noted in the guide as excellent holding, we managed to drag our anchor and ended up stuck on a shallow mud bank.

We had been anchored out for 3 days in light to moderate winds that turned slowly in all directions. We even joked as we dined in the cockpit that we had a 360-degree panoramic restaurant.

On the 3rd day an afternoon storm kicked up with gusts up to 25 knots. We were on board and not at all worried. We had out 10:1. We had a Rocna.

I was working in the cockpit when I looked around and noticed that the stone dike around the beach looked much bigger than before. Much much bigger. I called down to Patrick to turn on the navigation instruments and come up fast. The depth sounder showed 1.1 meters, the exact depth of our keel with the centerboard up. We noticed we were perpendicular to all the other boats in the bay and to the wind. We were clearly beached.

We tried to use the motor to push ourselves out but all that nice excellent-holding mud held fast to our rudders and keel. At least this is an advantage of having a boat that can beach – we were simply stuck, but stuck upright, whereas a keel boat would topple over sideways.

We tried pulling and pushing the nose with the dinghy and the boat motor, but 2.5 horsepower vs 20+ knots on 10 tonnes is just not good odds. We knew we had to call for help before the winds pushed us even further up onto the mud bank.

We called the port closest to us where we had spent 4 nights. They were only 200 meters away. They informed us that they were not allowed to intervene and we had to call the mooring assistance service in the major port of the bay. A tragic-comic mélé of vhf and telephone calls ensued in french, italian, and broken english, where we finally had to take time out from our crisis to look up how to say "stuck in the mud". Three cheers for google translate.

A small coast guard vessel showed up for what we can only interpret as moral support. They informed us that the mooring assistance service had to help us but that they were currently out helping another boat. When the MAS arrived, they realized that their boat was too big to safely approach us in shallow water and went back to headquarters to get a shallow-draft vessel.

Once everyone was in place, the actual rescue only took 3 minutes. They tugged and we pushed, a boiling cauldron of mud exploded around the boat, and we were free. (Note : very important to clean the water filter and flush the engine with clean seawater for awhile.) We re-anchored in deeper water, the storm having passed, and then had to take our dinghy to the main port to fill out paperwork and pay the 85 Euro fee.

Lessons ? We suppose that the constant slow piroettes of the boat over 3 days must have "unscrewed" the anchor in the mud. When we pulled it up, there was a large hard ball of clay filling the spade, which would have made it very difficult to dig in again. I guess we’ll have to either dive to verify the holding or pull up and reset the anchor periodically when the boat turns 360s.

Fortunately, we were on board and no other boats were in our path, we have a lifting keel boat that settles instead of topples, and we were pushed onto mud and not rock.

But the best lesson, something we already knew but saw confirmed once again, is that there is a solidarity among the sailing community that warms the heart. As soon as it was clear that we were in trouble, two other dinghies showed up to offer help. Even with 3 small motors pushing, we didn’t solve the problem, but their presence cheered us as we waited and their stories of their own similar misadventures made us feel less stupid. That’s worth 85 Euros any day.

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Cruising 2018 Postponed

How many times have I said that cruising plans are written in the sand at low tide? This winter, we’ve had a larger-than-normal tide that has eroded short-term plans and possibly longer-term ones as well.

Patrick and I have had a series of health problems. Mine are minor-ish: a slightly-pinched disk in the lower back with a touch of arthritis. No more running. No more heavy lifting. Between the arthritis in the hands and now the back, my body has become a living barometer that, once calibrated, may actually be useful at sea.

Winter erosion.

Patrick’s issues are more serious. He has scoliosis, 2 pinched disks, and a very large herniated disk causing “sciatic nerve paralysis.” Strangely, he has no pain in the back, but shooting pain in one leg with loss of reflexes, some nerve damage, and loss of strength. We met with the neurosurgeon yesterday, who wants to avoid operating if possible. The first step is a cortisone injection to see if reducing the swelling may help the herniated disk to back off or even (rare but possible) to slip back into place by itself. If that doesn’t work, he’ll need surgery.

Instead of getting back to the boat on the 6^th of May, it looks like the earliest we’ll be able to leave is late may / early June. If he has to have surgery, it will be at least 6 weeks longer. Since we already have air tickets and an apartment lined up (all non-refundable, optimists that we are...), we may go down on the 6^th anyway to make some headway on the work (cleaning deck and hull, waxing hull, polishing the stainless, etc.) so that when we are ready to go, we’ll just have the bottom paint to slap on.

Washed up.

In any case, we’re going to have to modify our way of doing things on the boat, and possibly our cruising ambitions as well. We don’t want to find ourselves in some idyllic anchorage in the middle of nowhere when his disk decides to slip further and cause a real paralysis and extreme pain. It’s easy to say “take it easy on the boat, reduce sail, don’t misuse your back,” etc., but there are always emergencies on a boat that require your immediate attention and you don’t always have the luxury of being able to rig some gentler way of handling things. My problems weren’t caused by any single catastrophic event, but rather slow constant wear and tear. Sailing 6 months of the year every year for many years takes its toll.

I’m juggling cruising options and it’s still too early to see clearly. We want to avoid being around Corsica from mid-July to mid-August, but I’m a bit leery about hanging out further down on the Sardinian coast with few towns large enough to offer assistance in an emergency. The plan was to continue down to Sicily and winter-over at Marina di Ragusa, but that plan only makes sense if a) Patrick’s back is stable, and b) we plan to continue on to Greece and Turkey the following year. Another option is to start heading back to the French coast to prepare for a passage through the canals the following year, saying goodbye to the Med.

We’re both taking all of this with a big dose of philosophy. There’s no debate - health comes first. We’ve had a wonderful 10 years of sailing and maybe it’s time to reign in our ambitions by limiting ourselves to sailing locally around France, or chucking it all and moving on to some new life project. We live with an uneasy oil-and-water mixture of disappointment and excitement at the moment. The world is big and there’s so much to do and see…

Washed out.

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Season Wrap-up 2017: What worked, what didn't

We have declared our first year of sailing the Med a success : despite some rather unpleasant glitches, we had a wonderful time and are eager to return.

Some basic statistics 

Days on boat : 174

Distance covered : 1175 nautical miles

Countries / Islands visited : Gibraltar (UK), Spain, Balearic islands (Spain), Sardinia (Italy), Corsica (France)

Nights at anchor vs. nights in port : 43 % anchor : 57 % port

Average cost : 18 Euros / night (total of all nights including free nights at anchor)

Motor hours : 182

Sailing : approximately 45 % of time

How did we keep costs so low ? Lots of free anchorages or cheap(er) mooring buoys (29 Euros, with trash pick-up and water-taxi service to shore), and liberal use of the municipal port system in the Balearic islands : 43 euros / night if you reserve in advance using their on-line system.

How did we manage to sail 45 % of the time in the Med in the summer ? We had no schedule and could choose when to sail. We also don’t mind coasting along at 3 knots if we have the time. The Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 379 is a light, slippery boat designed for light-wind sailing and, with our genakker for longer passages, we managed to maintain a respectable sailing-to-motor ratio. We often motor-sailed, with the motor at 1200 rpms, just to keep the speed up and make it into port before sundown, but most of the propulsion was by sail. Our diesel consumption on average was about 1.3 L / hour thanks to the sails.

Highlights

The weather, the warm turquoise waters, the cobalt blue of offshore waters, pin-scented mountains that plunge into the sea, perched villages, labyrinths of old stone streets, ancient civilizations...in short, the Mediterranean !

Meeting up with old friends and making new ones

Certain areas of the Balearics (tainted by over-crowding)

Sardinia and Corsica...SOOO looking forward to exploring these two Mediterranean jewels next year.

Lowlights

The diesel tank leak caused by the Jeanneau technician “repairing” our gas gauge 

The spaghetti of chains and anchors that ensued when a 51-foot yacht dragged its anchor onto us

The over-crowding in the Balearic islands in July and August (that was just stupid… but mostly unavoidable with our schedule)

A few nights of extremely hot weather: 35° C / 95° F at 3 a.m. !

Plastic pollution around the Balearics, even in marine reserves

Patrick’s too-close encounter with a jellyfish. Nearly 6 months later, he still has a scar.

What worked

Lifting keel. People often say that a lifting keel boat is useless in the Mediterranean because the tides are so small. But we found our lifting keel to be extremely useful on several occasions and even allowed us to sit out a blow at anchor when everyone else had to leave. Several ports around the Med have silting problems and all have space limitations. If you tell the port agents that your draft is only 1.3 meters / 4.3 feet (1.1 limit but we don’t like to tell them that), you have more possibilities to squeeze in for the night. A lifting keel allows you to anchor closer to the beach or, more importantly, further into narrow calas and behind protective headlands in more sheltered areas.

Anchoring. This season we anchored more than ever and in many different circumstances, including 30+ knot gusts. Early in the season, our anchor dragged a couple of meters...no big deal but it taught us that a 4:1 scope is not enough. An excellent technical description of anchoring is available (in french) from our friend Pierre’s site, and points out that your anchor is not fully effective with less than a 5:1 scope. Now we believe.  

Heat management. This is critical in the Med in the summer. A few necessities: 1) a bimini. In the Med, a bimini is a basic life-support system. We learned to sail with it this year, even taking in and letting out reefs with it in place. We need side panels, however, and I’m going to have something made this winter that will be a little bit classier than a series of towels I hung out this year. 2) A wind scoop. These things are little miracles that catch even the slightest breeze and make it seem like a fan has been turned on high in the boat. I hope to get a second one for next year. 3) Good planning, as in planning to be at anchor where you can swim when it’s hottest rather than being stuck in an airless port.

Tying up stern-to-quay. Patrick perfected his stern-to maneuvers this year while I perfected my acrobatics of jumping to the quay and handling the lines. We were even able to back in and tie up with the dinghy hanging from the back davits (hoisted up as high as possible). Our dual rudders cause some nervous moments as we have to be perfectly lined up with the berth to avoid snagging our neighbor’s tailed line in the water. If the conditions were too dicey with cross winds, we just pulled in bows-to and used a plank to get ashore. Our plank techniques changed over the season and we finally have a set up that is safe(ish) and easy to install.

Internet communication. In the early part of the season, we used a Spanish service called Wifi Away that gave us 20 GB of high-speed internet for about $30 and was easily renewable via internet. In mid June, Europe eliminated roaming charges so we could go back to using our french telephone and internet service. We have never been so well connected.

Weather prediction. Although the weather in the Med can be capricious, we were pleasantly surprised at how well the weather services predicted sometimes crazy wind patterns. We used:

• JCOMM Global Maritime Distress and Safety System 24-hour forecasts for Metarea 3 
• Grib files (Zygrib and OpenSkiron / WRF files)
• Predictwind for longer passages
• Wind guru for coastal details

Laser rangefinder. This is one of the best gadgets we’ve ever bought. The range finder helps you to choose a good mooring spot (those rocks are actually further away than you think) and to verify that you aren’t dragging; it helps to keep an eye on neighboring boats to see if they are dragging; and we suspect we will be using it in the next year or two to know when we are 3 boat-lengths away from the dock, indicating where to drop our own anchor for stern-to mooring when no tailing lines are available.

What didn’t work

FlopperStopper. We tested out a new system to prevent excessive rolling at anchor developed by a friend of ours, which I’ve described before. Unfortunately, we didn’t manage to get the system to work on our boat. The hull shape made the poles stick out at angles rather than hanging vertically, and because the blades are not perfectly flat, the upward motion caused a torque that twisted the poles and makes the attachment weak. After one rather rolly night, we found the blades lying at the bottom of the cove. We retrieved them but packed up the system to send back for further modifications and testing.

Tripline. This winter I discussed how I intended to use a sunken trip line to allow us to recover the anchor if it became stuck. I can’t say that this didn’t work, but I never actually used it. In water shallower than 6-7 meters, I can free dive if needed. In almost all of the areas where we dropped anchor this summer, the water was so clear you could see if there were any obstacles, and we always dove around just after arriving to make sure there was nothing in our swing radius that might cause problems. Once, we did get the chain snagged under a flat rock, but the water was clear enough that we could see which way to maneuver the boat to pull the chain free. And in general, we had so many choices for anchoring that we never chose to anchor in areas where the nautical guide suggested using a trip line.

The Balearics in July and August. The over-crowding and stupidity made for some very disagreeable anchorages. Even if you found a cala with good room to anchor, you could be sure that you would be surrounded by morons anchoring too close or attempting to put their anchor on top of yours before the afternoon was out. In general, the crowds thinned out at sunset but the days could be very stressful. Many of the boats are day rentals with “no permit needed” and clearly with no instructions on how to anchor provided. For 4 meters of water, these credit card skippers would put out 6 meters of chain and wonder why you were staring nervously at them all afternoon. The good news was that most of the renters never left the boat, so at least you could yell at them when their anchors dragged. We had anticipated that this would be a problem and had even thought of putting Mareda in a port from 15 July to 15 August and just visiting the island by land, but the costs of that were prohibitive. Instead, we used the municipal port system (PortsIB) and reserved one week stays at 3 different marinas, with several days in between for getting to the next port and anchoring out to remind ourselves of why we wanted to be in port. Like magic, around the 15^th of August, the crowds evaporated and we could begin enjoying anchoring again.

Wrap-up

Neither of us has ever been so eager to resume cruising. Last year there was a bit of trepidation about starting our first year in the Med: the capricious weather, the Balearics in the summer and over-crowding in general, learning new “Med techniques” of anchoring and port maneuvers. With those initial “getting-to-know-you” jitters behind us and having already had a preview of things to come next year for a tour of Corsica and Sardinia, we’re counting the days until our return !

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The Crossing: Menorca to Sardinia

The weather forecast was right on target and we had an enjoyable crossing from Mahon to Porto Conte. The evening before the crossing, we left the port to anchor in Cala Teulera at the entrance of the bay. When we anchored, we found ourselves between two french boats who were both from Brittany, one from our home port of Arzal. They were headed back to the french coast and were planning to leave that evening. An hour before sunset they pulled out and we wished them well. One hour later, one of them came back and anchored where they had left. The swell from the previous gale that had ended that morning was still too much for them and they decided to try again in the coming days.

Hail storm the day before we left...

We planned our approximately 40-hour passage to leave as the swell from the gale died down and to arrive in Sardinia as the next gale was striking the Balearic islands. It was a narrow window but the predictions were correct and we had a great crossing. We left before sunrise with a bright half-moon and motored for the first 6 hours, which we had expected. By noon, we had the genakker flying on a broad reach with 10-13 knots of wind. 

At night, we rolled up the genakker, rolled out the genoa and put a reef in the main. Even if it’s calm and the predictions seem trustworthy, we always reef for the night. Our speed slowed a bit, but we were able to keep sailing through the night. We crossed a few cargoes during the night but none too close for discomfort. As I was keeping an eye on one cargo passing behind us, I scanned the horizon in front of us and panicked when I saw a huge yellow triangular light coming straight at us. I’d never seen anything like it and it seemed to be very close. I checked the AIS system to see if I could identify a boat but there was nothing there. I looked back at the thing in horror, only to realize as I stared at it a bit longer that I was witnessing a moon-rise over the horizon, beginning with the triangular tip of the half-moon. My shock rapidly turned to wonder and marvel, and I almost woke Patrick up to see it (he later said he was glad I didn’t but I think he was wrong.)

Moonrise on the sea.  The red port-side nav light lights-up the genoa.

We put the genakker back up as soon as it was daylight. We had a calm period later that morning and had to help the sails with the motor to keep our speed up, but we reached the Sardinian coast just as the sun was setting. Flat seas, 8-14 knots winds, 60% pure sailing / 40% motor-sailing, average speed 4.9 knots over about 185 miles.

Sardinia under the Genakker.

We knew we would arrive in the dark so we aimed for the bay of Porto Conte. The bay is large and beautiful and well-protected from almost all winds but has been made a nature reserve, and we had conflicting information about whether we could anchor here or not. We aimed for Cala del Bollo for the first night since it was one of the closest to the entrance and had a large sand and weed area for mooring.

Just as we furled the sails and began motoring into the bay, a patrol boat came speeding towards us, turned their floodlights on us and came up very close behind us. We know the drill...seems to the be same in all countries. It was the Italian customs authorities intercepting foreign vessels arriving in discreet mooring areas at night. They took our papers in a big net and after about 15 minutes gave them back and wished us a pleasant stay. Those 15 minutes meant that it was now very dark for anchoring so we were left to rely on our gps to guide us in the rest of the way. As we neared the beach, a line of unlit swim buoys surprised us and we backed away quickly, scanning the area with our powerful flashlight. We went into the 6 meter zone further off the beach and the crystal-clear water allowed us to see that we had good sandy bottom. We dropped the hook, had a celebratory drink, made a quick dinner, contacted family to let everyone know we had made it, and crashed for a very calm night. I hope all our crossings can be as pleasant !

Cala del Bollo anchorage on the left...nice wide target for night arrival.

The cliffs marking the entrance to Porto Conte.

Cliffs in Porto Conte.

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Winter Wrap-up 2016

Sailing season 2016 is officially over for us, we are back home in Brittany, and Mareda has been tucked in for the winter at Marina Alcaidesa, La Linea de la Conception, Spain, otherwise referred to by us as “Gibraltar” for lack of a more prominent landmark.

The rock, viewed from La Linea, Alcaidesa Marina.

La Linea, Alcaidesa Marina viewed from the Rock.

We’re disappointed that we couldn’t extend the season out to the end of October as initially hoped, but given the circumstances, we’re both very happy to be home a little early.  A mere 24-hours after landing, Patrick developed an abscess in one of his front teeth and his face swelled up like a balloon.  He was in agony for 48 hours despite maximum doses of Tylenol with codeine.  The antibiotics finally took effect and he’s back to normal but the prognosis doesn’t look good.  We’ll know more next week, but he could be looking at 2-3 surgeries with 4-5 month recovery times in between.  That could put a crinkle in our cruise plans for next year. 

As for me, I have an appointment with the rheumatologist to see about my newly blossomed arthritis, which could put a crinkle in more than our cruise plans.  We’re both looking at a lot of doctor’s visits over the next few months and we’d rather be home to cope with it all.

Patrick "Woo Hoo! We're in Gibraltar!"  Ape: "if I had a banana for every stupid tourist photo I pose for..."

Here are some statistics for 2016:

Miles covered =   1140

Days on boat = 114

Days sailing = 33

Longest sail = 78 hours

Hours motoring = 141

Different ports and moorings = 30 in 3 countries

Number of nights at anchor =  20

Average port cost for 2016 season = 17 euros / night   (calculation based on port fees, free nights at anchor and an exchange program between our home port and ports in Galicia, Spain that gave us some free ports in June.)

Highlights

The thrill of sailing new territory in new countries

Visiting La Coruna, Porto, Coimbra, Lisbon, Sintra, Faro, Cadiz, and Gibraltar

Playing Robinson Crusoe anchored behind Culatra island for two weeks

Beautiful hot sunny weather from June to October !  (neither of us wore shoes for 3.5 months)

Meeting other cruisers and sharing the journey

Lowlights

Health problems; ours and visiting friends’

Stress (Patrick wishes to emphasize that the stress was mine, not his).  Sailing in new territory with new weather patterns and in a foreign language can be tough on the nerves.  We sailed around some mythic headlands this season: Cape Finisterre in Spain, Cape St Vincent in Portugal, and Cape Trafalgar / Tarifa / Gibraltar.  All went well, but the anxiety of anticipation was heavy.  Even though we didn’t really have a fixed calendar to respect, I often had the feeling that we were on a boat-delivery job and we didn’t always have time to enjoy a place because the weather forced us to either move on the next day or risk getting trapped for a week.  I had a small breakdown (yes, yes, tears and all) around Mazagon, which was just after our horrible experience in Lagos and just before I went to the clinic to find out why my hands weren’t doing what I was telling them to.  I have hopes that these issues will be resolved before we head out again next year and we’ve already agreed to take it much slower next year. 

Unbelievably poor internet services.  I think most ports have just given up trying to keep up with the demand and they now expect every cruiser to be autonomous (mobile telephone with 4G connections, sat phones, etc.)  Even the bars and cafes around the marinas have limited services.  When internet is your only means of getting good weather information, this becomes a critical issue.  We’re studying options for next year, but they all look expensive.

What worked

Riding sail: we only put this to the test a couple of times, but we noticed a big difference in our motion compared to that of our neighbors.

Heat management:  I was worried about this and my Breton husband, unaccustomed to heat. Despite 37°C / 99°F heat in Portugal, we stayed comfortable thanks to the bimini, the dodger and its opening front and side panels, our wind chute to capture even the slightest puff of air (when you hook it up even in light winds, you have the impression that you’ve turned on a fan down below), and good engineering by Jeanneau with lots of ventilation.  All the hatches have mosquito screens built in and we use a mosquito net across the door of our cabin at night so we can keep maximum ventilation.  The only thing missing is side panels for the bimini.

Electricity management:  Our solar panels kept us charged with no worries even after 2 weeks at anchor and despite a refrigerator working overtime.  Our electric wok and toaster, which we can use when we are hooked up to shore power, cut our cooking gas consumption by a factor of 3!

Diesel management: When we fire up the motor, we rarely ask it to give us more than 5 knots, usually in combination with sails, so our gas consumption was much lower than we anticipated.  We averaged 1.3 liters / hour.

What didn’t work

Internet.  We wonder why we even invested in an expensive wifi antenna.  Useless, given the circumstances. 

Spinnaker pole: we’re selling it!  We always thought it was important to have one to pole out the genoa or the gennaker, but the reality is that we are never sufficiently motivated to actually hook it up.  In addition, I discovered a new way to maximize the opening of the genoa when sailing with a tailwind or wing-on-wing, which is to use the gennaker sheets and the barber hauler to pass the sheets outside the boat (rather than through the sheet travelers), thus turning the genoa into a small gennaker.  By keeping the genoa sheets attached to the sail at the same time, I can bring the genoa back to normal (for quick hauling in / rolling up) without the hassle involved in dealing with a spinnaker pole. 

Pocket hose:  I loved my little pocket hose but it didn’t withstand its second season.  The problem is the textile casing, which gets fragile when too exposed to UV.  Once there is a rip in the casing, the inner tubing blows up like a goiter and explodes.  We’re back to a regular garden-hose type now, which is certainly more robust but also takes up much more space and is much heavier.

Lessons learned

You CAN sail in the Med, but you have to have time and be motivated.  You often hear that in the Med there is either too much wind or not enough.  This all depends on what “too much” and “not enough” mean to you.  We managed to keep our motor hours down thanks to the gennaker and accepting to drift along at 3 knots at times, but we did crack and fire up the motor more often than was really necessary and there were quite a few occasions where we SHOULD have put up the gennaker but didn’t.  The typical day is calm in the mornings with good sailing winds for a few hours in the late morning / early afternoon, then up to 20-25 knots in the afternoon, all of which can come from just about any direction, especially around headlands and cliffs.  You have to be willing to make lots of sail changes and to make them fast if you want to sail here.  Often what happens is that you opt for a “ready for anything” approach, which means 2 reefs in the main with the motor.  You motor-sail in the mornings, sail with 2 reefs and full genoa in the early afternoon, then sail with only the reefed mainsail and maybe a tiny handkerchief-sized genoa in the afternoon (or fall back to motor-sailing if the wind is too much in the nose).  It’s not ideal but it is the best lazy approach!  We tell ourselves we WILL make more use of the gennaker and try to just leave it out as much as possible so that we can’t whine and gripe about who has to go below and haul it up from the lazarette, hook up the furler, etc.  Eliminate the excuses as much as possible!

We’re more bourgeois than we imagined.  We like to think of ourselves as intrepid adventurers, but we’re much happier when we have good internet, good food, and beautiful or interesting surroundings to visit while we’re out.  On several occasions we were ready to head out in unsuitable weather conditions because of dissatisfaction with a port:  nothing interesting to visit, no internet, no good food markets nearby, ugly industrial settings, etc.  We may adopt the strategy of a few cruisers we met this year and make some long overnight sails to jump over the boring or ugly bits.

Clouds over Gibraltar,

Mareda, nestled down for winter behind the rock.

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Our passage through the Straits of Gibraltar

Passing through the Straits is one of those mythical navigational feats that leaves its mark on you.  When we bought Mareda, our plan was to go to the Med via the French canals, saving time and stress.  A friend tsk-tsk-tsk’d at our plans, saying that we had an excellent boat, that we were both good sailors, and that it would be a real shame to miss out on sailing around the Iberian Peninsula and through the Straits.  That remark planted a seed (fertilized by equal parts ambition and shame) that led to our decision to take the long / hard route around Spain and Portugal. 

There are entire books dedicated to strategies for passing through the Straits with a lightly-motored sail boat.  I somehow missed this in my research for our trip this past winter, but thanks to other bloggers, I managed to find the most important information to help us plan the least painful passage possible.

Patrick thought it would be funny to have a picture of the French flag flying over Cape Trafalgar, but the flag wasn't as enthused as he was.

Because of the busy shipping lanes, the capricious and often ferocious winds, and strong currents, the Straits has a reputation for being a place where sailboats can get into trouble quickly.  Our first task was to find a weather window with westerly winds to push us to Gibraltar.  In September, the climatology tells us that 60% of the winds are northeasterly, and those westerly windows have been few and far between over the last few weeks.  We finally found a 3-day period with light westerly winds and started looking at the currents.

It turns out that we are close to the neap tides (lowest tidal coefficients of the year).  The current normally flows from east to west starting at 3 hours before high-water in Gibraltar, but during the neap tides, they turn even earlier, starting between 4 or 5 hours before high water.  This is great news as it gives you an even larger time slot for planning your passage.  The currents are also weaker at this period of time.  Extracts from the Straits Handbook say you can expect 1.5 knots at neap tides, and we had up to 2 knots a few days before neap tides set in.

According to friend-of-friends Nick Ellis who posted his passage notes on Noonsite, there are 2 major pieces of advice to follow: 1) from Barbate to Gibraltar, stay in-shore of the banks.  The currents and swell are much less confused here and the passage smoother; and 2) take whatever local weather forecast you trust (we, like he, used wind guru) and double the forecast for winds at Tarifa; and whatever wind speed you actually have at Tarifa, double those for the winds you will have leaving the Straits and rounding up into the Algeciras bay.

Our weather window of interest gave us light winds (westerly 8 – 10 knots) and eastward flowing tides over a large range of hours. The last piece of the puzzle was sunrise and sunset. This is where everything broke down.  There was no way to coincide the current without either leaving in the dark or arriving at dark.  Because of the fishing nets and crab pots in the area and because we didn’t want to miss the beautiful scenery, we worked to find a solution for day-time sailing only.

If you don't put a wind generator park here, you may as well not put one anywhere.  300 days per year of over 30 knots.

Patrick (he wants it to be known) came up with the following plan:  Cadiz to Barbate, 40 miles of daylight sailing arriving with a favorable current; Barbate to the anchorage of Isla Tarifa, 20 miles, all daylight, all favorable current, arriving at sunset and leaving at sunrise; then about 18 miles from Tarifa to Gibraltar, from sunrise to around noon, all light, all favorable current. 

I would highly recommend this strategy except for one caveat:  the anchorage at Tarifa is uncomfortable even in good conditions.  You have to anchor far enough into the bay that you don’t disturb the high-speed ferry traffic.  A pilot boat comes out every hour to secure the zone for the ferries, and apparently we were deemed inoffensive since they left us alone (a relief after our experiences in Rota).  We arrived half-an-hour before sunset and left before sunrise.  The holding is excellent but we rolled all night long.  That, combined with the anxiety of the coming passage, led to a mostly-sleepless night.

** note:  we were told a few days later by a sailing school instructor from Gibraltar that we were very lucky to have been able to anchor in the harbor at Tarifa.  Apparently anchoring there has been banned since last year.  They had too many problems with boats impeding the passage of the ferries.  I suppose they let us slide through since we arrived at sundown and left at sunrise.

Refreshments in Tarifa with the sun setting on Africa in the background.

"Africa is just over my shoulder !"

Leave room for the high-speed ferries in Tarifa harbour.

But let's start from the beginning:  On the passage from Cadiz to Barbate, we had 2 1-hour periods of thick fog that were a bit disturbing, and at the exact moment that the first fog bank hit us, we heard a loud and repeated “boom – boom – boom”.  After a moment of panic, memory kicked in… this is not the first time I’ve heard that noise at sea.  I ducked down to look at the chart plotter:  we were in a military firing range.  I had heard Spanish war ships talking on the radio earlier in the day.  We have a similar zone in Brittany and were once chased off by a pilot boat clearing the area before a bombing exercise.  We weren’t disturbed further by the continual booms since there were lots of small fishing boats around us and we figured we weren’t in the direct line of fire.

Barbate was a very nice, nearly empty port with a large supermarket about 15 minutes’ walk from the port.  The big fishing nets that nearly block the entrance of the port in summer were already gone and we had smooth sailing on a direct course to Tarifa.

The handbook got it absolutely right.  The previsions were for 8 – 12 knots winds, and we had 18 knots as we approached Tarifa.  The winds grew from 12 to 18 within an extremely short period of time, and thanks to being forewarned, we put 3 reefs in the mainsail expecting the worst.  (We didn’t really think we would need 3 reefs but we wanted to test our little-used 3^rd reef and decided this was a good time.)  With 2 knots of current pushing us along as well, we were often sailing at speeds of 7 knots with only the deeply-reefed mainsail.  We were somewhat protected behind Tarifa and doused the sail with 13 knots in the nose as we set the anchor.

Straits sunrise.

The next morning, the forecast was for 8 knots of wind.  We had a very variable 10-15 knots as we left Tarifa.  Since we had 2 knots of current and the wind was from 177 degrees behind us, we opted to just unroll ½ the genoa with no mainsail.  This configuration worked well and allowed us to adjust our sail area as the wind went from 15 to 6 knots, then back up to 15 again as we progressed down the Straits.  Right on time, as we rounded up into the bay, the wind suddenly accelerated to 18 knots, and did a bit of a pirouette, turning first to a close reach then falling off to a beam reach.  Our lovely tail current went away and even turned against us slightly.  We continued rolling and unrolling the genoa to adjust our speed to avoid cargoes and ferries, but as we progressed further into the bay it became necessary to launch the motor.

Mareda, bottom left under Tarifa.  Me: "I always thought the Straits would be more crowded.  Where is everybody?"  Wait till you turn the corner...

...And there it is: The ROCK !

We pulled into La Linea (on the Spanish side of Gibraltar) and were surprised to find that it was relatively full and busy, after having had nearly-empty ports since leaving the Algarve.  The waiting pontoon is the same as the gas pontoon to port as you enter, although after 5 years in service, the marina has still not put up any sign signaling that it is, in fact, the waiting pontoon.  The dock is very high and concrete, with large widely spaced bollards rather than cleats, so it’s a good idea to put your fenders up high and prepare long lines if you aren’t a 15-meter boat.

The most beautiful berth we've ever had.

My wind chute, unwittingly in Gibraltar colors for Gibraltar National Day.

After lunch and a well-deserved siesta, we made contact with our new Dutch friends Dorette and Victor sailing on Mamira Fenna, who left Cadiz on the same day as us but preferred a one-hop over-night sail to Gibraltar.  Comparing notes afterwards, they also confirm that the wind was double what was predicted for Tarifa, and double again for entering the bay at the end of the Straits.

All in all, we had a very smooth passage.  The anxiety was worse than the actual event, and I wish I could turn that experience into something that would serve to lessen my anxiety in the future.  My hands bothered me a bit, and I was slow in some manoeuvers as I tried to use the winch instead of my hands as much as possible.  It’s going to take some time to get used to new ways of doing things, and unfortunately, the knowledge that my hands are slow and weak now adds to my fears about sailing in potentially difficult situations. 

We are THRILLED to be here !  Our berth is the most beautiful we’ve ever had: a full front-row view of the rock.  We learned as we signed in that we were arriving on the eve of Gibraltar Day and festivities are in full swing.  The port is modern and comfortable, attractive and CHEAP !  After having paid around 32 euros per night for most of the ports in the Algarve and southern Spain, we are in this beautiful spot for less than 20 euros / night.  For a 30-euro fee, we have internet on the boat, we have a large farmer’s market about 15 minutes from the port, and of course, we have Gibraltar and all that duty-free fun at our doorstep. 

After a week of research to decide where to leave the boat for the winter, we’ve decided to winter-over here in Linea.  The marina prices and travel prices from Malaga are much better than anything else we’ve seen along this coast (even though it’s still expensive… 7 months costs the same as 1 year at home).  It is a strange mixture of sadness and relief to think about leaving the boat already, but staying here will save us more than 1000 Euros compared to pushing on up the coast.  In the meantime, we are really enjoying Linea / Gibraltar.  It’s the first time we’ve experienced “house boat living” where we stay in one place for 3 weeks.  It’s calm, friendly, beautiful, and we have lots of tourism and entertainment options around (but note: it’s important to have bikes here !).  We have made friends here and we, of course, have lots of work to do to prepared the boat for 7 months of abandonment. 

It feels like an abrupt ending to the first leg of our big Mediterranean adventure, but sailing is all about patience and opportunity, n’est-ce pas?  We’ve packed a lot of experiences into the last 4 months and feel better prepared for the next leg of our journey.  We’ll call that a successful season.

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