SAILING MAREDA

Thursday, 15 September 2016

Cadiz

We thought the Puerto America of Cadiz would be bigger. The entrance is extremely narrow with a low floating wave-breaker pontoon at the entrance with a tight turn. The small Real Club Nautico on your left as you enter has large pontoons for big boats and the Puerto America marina is clearly aimed at small local boats and a couple of pontoons for visitors. Like Rota, the marina was practically empty when we arrived and the port office just told us to pick any spot we wanted. The finger berths are large and in reasonably good condition. There is no internet from the marina office, but we learned that you can get wifi access from the Nautica Benitez shop next door for 2 euros per day. The signal was good enough for email and gentle net surfing from the boat, and our one-day access lasted for 3 days.

The winds were blowing stiffly from the east, not very promising for heading through the Straits of Gibraltar. No problem, we said, we will enjoy visiting Cadiz for a few days. A few days turned into 7 before the winds became favorable, so we had time to get to know Cadiz. We had visited a few years ago in winter and found the town a bit boring and depressing, but summer brings another atmosphere.

Lazy photo-journalist confession again: pictures with no context coming up.

Chipiona and Rota

After the rather barren surroundings of Mazagon, we were looking forward to a little civilization at a summer resort and headed for Chipiona. We pulled up to the waiting pontoon and Patrick went to the office to register and get a spot. He came back with a funny look on his face, saying that there were no visitor’s spots available because of work on the docks, but at the last minute they managed to squeeze us into an owner’s spot with the understanding that we had to leave before noon on the next day. Better than nothing and we enjoyed Chipiona for the evening that we were there. Nothing special, just charming streets, architecture, restaurants, bars, boutiques, and ice cream shops !

The next small hop down the coast was to Rota. The marina was practically empty when we arrived and we only saw a couple of non-Spanish boats while we were there. The town is charming and there is enough to hold your interest for a few days. When we arrived on a Sunday, we noticed lots of boats moored off the beach between Rota and the US Military naval base on the other side of the small bay. We decided we would spend our last night there at anchorage. Bad idea.

Rota Marina

Rota Market

We pulled up around 6pm and anchored about 200 meters from the naval base jetty, where we could see naval ships of all sizes peeking over the breakwaters. We joked that we were under surveillance and should remain appropriately clothed, and that this would not be the right time to bring out my big camera and start taking pictures. There were 3 other boats in the area and we settled in happily with sundowners in the cockpit.

Just as the sun was going down, a small high-speed pilot boat came around the corner with a blue siren flashing. They went to a small fishing boat first (“great…it’s just for that guy who’s too close”) and then they came straight up to us. With a loud-speaker, they said “Do you speak English?” too which I responded “Yes, I’m an American.” This seemed to puzzle them (or perhaps disappointed them as they were all geared up to harass some French frogs). The nice young man kindly explained to me that we were too close to the naval station and that we needed to move at least 500 meters away from their jetty. We moved and put the anchor down just as the sun sank.

Now, surely, they saw where we were… we were on their radar from the beginning. But they waited until HALF PAST MIDNIGHT to come back to us, sirens and flood lights blaring into our windows, screeching out “You are too close to a US naval installation.” I fumbled around in a panic and pulled on some shorts, stumbled out into the cockpit and we started the whole thing all over again. “Do you speak English?” “Yes, I’m an American.” I then explained that his colleague already visited us and told us to move 500 meters from the jetty and that our chart plotter showed that we were more than 500 meters away. He said that we needed to be east of a red beacon light on the shore, about 200 meters further away. We turned on the deck lights, dug out our headlamps, and fired up the instruments to prepare to move again.

As we motored to the area they suggested, we noticed that we were getting dangerously close to some rocks. The other alternative was getting too close to a roped-off beach area, where the risk would be to get the rope wrapped around a rudder in the middle of the night. Fed up with the whole thing, we just decided to head back to the port of Rota. It was well-lit and we knew the port already. We just tied up to the waiting pontoon, pointed ourselves in the departure direction, and set our alarms for a dawn departure.

All of the towns along this coast are proud of their links to Columbus' voyages. Many crew came from this area.

It turns out that we were happy to have returned to port, since the winds picked up to 15-20 knots unexpectedly during the night. The next morning, we still had 15 knots and quite a lot of swell and chop to push through, but we just gritted our teeth and pushed through the 5 miles to Cadiz. The military had a last parting gesture for us, though. They patrol a large square area in front of their base that is marked on the charts but with no indication that we are not allowed to pass. However, as we headed on a direct route for Cadiz, we noticed the warship turned to intercept us and turned its stern to clearly indicate the limit of their zone. We tacked out to make a large swing around their zone and were very relieved to be finished with that area. When we arrived in Cadiz, we had an email waiting for us. The port of Rota noticed we had spent the night (from 1:30 am to 7:30 am) on their waiting dock and said we could pay the 30 Euro fee in Cadiz if we preferred. You can run but you can’t hide.

Mazagon

Mazagon: rhymes with pain-be-gone?

We finally tore ourselves away from our snug anchorage in the Ria Formosa and continued on our journey with a light 8 to 10 knots in the nose, zigzagging our way to Mazagon. The cargo traffic at the entrance of the channel was impressive but there was enough room for everyone (but our AIS system was very handy to see who was moving and who wasn’t…). The marina is large and modern and we discovered a grocery store that delivers at the top of the hill in the town.

We used Mazagon as a base to visit Huelva. We had no intention of visiting Huelva, but I couldn’t stand the pain anymore and had to go to a clinic there.

When we began this blog, we said we would tell it like it is, warts and all. We’ve been open and transparent about most of our sailing life, but as a rule, we don’t like to whine. (Well, okay, whining about sailing matters is what the blog is all about, but personal matters are a different story).

I began having pain and stiffness in my hands a few months ago. Normal, I thought, since we use (abuse) our hands a lot on the boat. In Lisbon, we took the time to go to a clinic because I started losing feeling in my thumb and index finger. The diagnosis was a contracted muscle that was compressing a nerve, and I was given anti-inflammatory drugs to take. The situation improved. Two weeks ago, the pain returned in both hands and fingers, and closer inspection showed bony nodules on 3 knuckles. Certain movements give me sharp pain that takes my breath away, and by the end of each day, two of my fingers are more-or-less useless.

Honestly, don't know what to look for...

We went to another clinic in Huelva, the biggest city next to the port of Mazagon. The doctor only spoke Spanish, but with the help of a few of the secretaries who knew some English and French, we managed to get through an exam and x-rays: rheumatoid arthritis and carpel tunnel syndrome in both hands (seems to be a buy-one get-one free deal). In a flash, I remembered with horror the deformed hands of my great aunt Ruby, and stories of my aunt Caroline who couldn’t get out of bed some mornings before her treatment made life manageable again. Both of my parents have undergone surgery for carpel tunnel syndrome in the last years.

My treatment: more anti-inflammatory drugs, some light drugs to stop the deterioration (Chondrosulf), and some mega-vitamins that supposedly target carpel tunnel problems (so says the doctor… I’m not a big believer in vitamin supplements for someone who eats a well-balanced diet. I’m not too sure this Chondrosulf stuff is very effective, either). I’m told I’ll feel better in 1 month once all the supplements have time to kick in. In the meantime, the doctor suggested that I not put my hands under any stress or tension. Right.

Normally, I wouldn’t complain about or even divulge health problems, but this one directly affects our sailing life. The winch is my new best friend, and I’ll need to rely on it more often now instead of just giving a good tug with my bare hands as I normally do when something needs a small adjustment. Little by little, I’m finding new techniques to get the job done with minimum stress. Still, it does put a crimp in things and I try not to think too much about the future right now. I’ll get a more thorough diagnosis when I get home, and yes, I’m going to try a gluten-free diet. The good news I’ve found is that gin is supposed to be helpful for arthritis. Always search for those bright spots…

Culatra Island

Note: south of Lagos, we entered an internet dead zone. We've only been able to get text emails and basic weather info for the last 2-3 weeks on the boat, and even the cafes and bars seem to have very limited internet. The next 3 posts, coming in rapid succession, are brought to you from the fantastic staff of the Cadiz tourist office, who have let me sit in their air-conditioned waiting room. Note: south of Lagos, we entered an internet dead zone. We've only been able to get text emails and basic weather info for the last 2-3 weeks on the boat, and even the cafes and bars seem to have very limited internet. The next 3 posts, coming in rapid succession, are brought to you from the fantastic staff of the Cadiz tourist office, who have let me sit in their air-conditioned waiting room.

The trip from Albufeira to Culatra was typical, with motor sailing in the morning and finishing up with about 18 knots in the afternoon. We entered the Ria Formosa at about 1 hour before high tide and even in a period of low tidal coefficients we had lots of whirlpools and counter currents to liven up the entrance. Once past the channel entry, the bay opened up and reminded us of the Morbihan Gulf at home (but less beautiful, of course). We were only flying the genoa as we sailed down to the anchorage area and we suspected that we might have problems with the furler, since we had problems the last time we had sailed downwind with the sail see-sawing back and forth in front of the genoa stay (now know/think we should have hauled in the sail a bit more to limit any rotation of the furler drum). As we neared the mooring field, I convinced Patrick that we should try to roll up early in case we had problems. He agreed to a short test roll (he who always wants to sail right up to the dock) and we discovered that we did, indeed, have a very stuck genoa furler line. I couldn’t undo it with a few tugs as I did the last time it happened. We quickly turned the boat around, headed back out into the bay away from the other anchored boats and took all the tension off the sail. With the deafening flopping of the sail, Patrick went forward and managed to get the first too-tight wrap undone and we rolled the genoa up half-way until it got stuck again. The whole process took about 10 minutes but it felt like an eternity. I was envisaging either trying to anchor with a wildly flapping sail, or taking down the whole genoa and trying to stuff it into the forward cabin hatch until we could calmly look at the problem. Fortunately, that wasn’t necessary, but with nerves already frazzled, this latest incident made me wonder what the hell we were doing out here.

Drying out in Culatra

Despite being August in the Algarve, there's plenty of room for everyone (with a lifting keel) in Culatra

Faro in the background

The anchorage is very protected and despite the hundreds of boats around there’s plenty of room for everyone (especially if you have a lifting keel!). The Rocna dug into the sand/mud mix with ease and we spent a quiet night on a mirror-smooth bay. The water is warm and we’re living in our swim suits, diving off the boat any time we need to be refreshed. There’s enough of a breeze to keep the inside temperature comfortable and nights are fresh. Patrick went shell fishing at low tide just behind the boat and made himself a big clam pasta dinner. (I’m too squeamish to eat shellfish from a zone I don’t know well.)

The island has very little to offer other than a few mini-markets with the essentials, and a few restaurants and bars whose principle attraction is free internet. Friends from home flew in to Faro to visit with us for a few days. We took the ferry over to Olhao and its farmers market to load up on fresh food. After a couple of days lazing around at anchor, we rented a car and drove up into the hills to see some of the back country and the lovely old town of Faro (post to follow).

In all, we stayed at anchor 14 days and gave ourselves time to refresh and reassess the next few months, which will, we agree, be done at a slower pace. In the beginning, we weren’t too cautious about our fresh water reserves (330 liters), rinsing off with fresh water every time we came back from a swim. We hadn’t intended to stay so long. By the last day, we had to go ashore with 2 jerry cans to give us enough for the last day, and we limped into our next port with the water pump sputtering air. Good to know your limitations! As for the electricity, we had no problems at all thanks to the solar panels and sun-filled days.

Some reflections on beaching the boat in a warm climate:

1) It’s great to be high and dry, but unless you’re in a zone of pure sand (rare), low tide can be quite a smelly affair.

2) When the boat is out of the water, the interior can get quite hot, since you no longer have the waterline to keep things cool. With good ventilation (which we thankfully have) this isn’t a problem, but if you think those beers you stored under the floorboards will keep cool, think again.

3) Unless you beach perfectly horizontally (rare) your water gauges will read false. Don’t panic. Just check again once you’re floating.

4) In zones of light winds and strange little whirlpools of currents, it is possible to settle down onto your own anchor and chain. In warm water, you can plunge into the water just before the boat settles and gently push her off the chain or move the chain. In colder water, I’m not sure I would attempt this. That said, one night we did settle onto our chain and there was no problem. We just checked to make sure there wasn’t too much tension on the chain or windlass. Settling onto the anchor would be a problem, though.

5) Remember that when the boat is out of the waterline, you don’t have a seawater intake to flush the toilet. The holding tank keeps the flush from going out into the water (or rather, plopping down on the sand), but you still need to flush and you don’t want to use precious fresh water resources. Before the water slips away, take a bucket of seawater and have that handy for flushing.

Portimao and Albufeira

The anchorage at Portimao is fantastic, with beautiful ocre-colored cliffs, good holding, and plenty of room. We were looking forward to a few calm nights after the chaos of Lagos and its nightclubs around the marina. Unfortunately, even though we were quite far away from the actual town of Portimao, the sound from the techno-club carries over the water and we were treated to another few nights of boom-boom-boom. We tried to get into the spirit of the thing, telling each other is was summer in the Algarve, we could catch up on sleep during the day, etc. That attitude exercise worked until 2 a.m., when we decided that we really were bothered by the noise and would leave earlier than planned.

Albufeira is a marina nestled in a crack in the cliffs with wonderful protection from the wind, although it does get a lot of swell if winds are southerly. We pulled into our rather narrow spot without any misadventure (Patrick checked out the spot before we even left the welcome dock). There is nothing in the marina area of Albufeira except restaurants and nightclubs. As a treat after more than a week of techno and dance music, we were treated to a night of “best of Sting” followed by a drunk Irishman screaming out pop songs from the Irish pub. Mercifully, they ended their shows at midnight.

We knew we would be anchored for many days at our next port and had friends coming in, so we needed to load up on food. We ended up taking a bus into town to a major grocery store and made our way back to the boat in a tuk-tuk taxi just in time to cast off the lines and make it out of the marina for the hop down the coast to the Ria Formosa near Faro. As usual, the option was to head out in a rush or to stay for 3 or 4 more days because of bad weather. It feels like we’ve been pushing ahead like this for weeks. I found myself getting very frazzled and knew I needed a long rest.

Lagos

We had been looking forward to Lagos. This is a spot where many sailors winter-over and we have friends from Brittany who love this spot. It is beautiful and the weather is perfectly hot and dry, the water is turquoise. After our overly-physical departure from the Sagres Ensenada in the morning, we pulled into Lagos thinking the worst of our day was over (see previous post). We were wrong.

The beautiful Algarve coast around Lagos.

The long welcome dock was full and we had to raft up next to another boat. We missed the approach on the first attempt because the wind shoved us too fast and at a bad angle into the other boat and we had to rapidly put the boat in reverse to keep from doing damage. Once in reverse, the wind and currents took us on a bizarre ride and threatened to push us over to the rocks on the other side of the narrow channel. We finally got control of the situation and made a gentler approach, tied up, and checked in at the marina.

Patrick requested a spot with good internet reception. He still hasn’t learned. This almost always means going deep into the finger berths and getting into a spot meant for smaller boats near the dock entrance. I’m going to start announcing to marinas “we are an 11-meter boat AND WE DO NOT HAVE A BOW THRUSTER !!” Our first arrival was just perfect, except that we were in the wrong spot. We were in a spot for the many tourist boats that take people to visit the grottos. We had to move. The wind was 15 knots from ahead. Patrick asked the marina for assistance to get into the slot next to us because it was a tight squeeze to back the boat out, and with stiff cross-winds, we worried about our maneuverability. Two guys from the marina came out and expected that all they would have to do is shove us off and take our lines in the new spot. Patrick backed the boat out and the wind immediately took the nose and pushed her over onto the boats on the other pontoon faster than we could react. Once pinned against the other boats, their anchors scraping on our hull, there’s not much we could do. People came running from everywhere, yelling, screaming, pushing, shoving, yanking. We got Mareda off the line of boats and once into the middle of the fairway, the wind shoved her right back before we could even slam the motor into gear. One guy asked if our bow thruster was broken. Finally, one of the smaller tourist rib boats came out and took our lines and towed us free, and once Mareda was properly lined up and the motor engaged, we managed to pull into the assigned spot. The hundreds of on-lookers from the terrace restaurants cheered. We were traumatized and mortified.

In the end, there was no damage to the other boats, our gelcoat had a few superficial scratches, and the iroko-wood rub rail has a big gash in it, but it could have been much worse. We hung our heads low and tried to make ourselves invisible for the rest of the day.

Our efforts were not even rewarded. The internet was crap, the showers were cold, and we got blasted by “Karaoke night” from the bar next door. For this, we’re paying 47 euros a night – the most expensive port so far. We were so looking forward to visiting Lagos and now we can only think of how to slink out of here as soon as the winds calm down. Yes, yes, I know: “Get over yourselves. You’re not the first to screw up a maneuver; it’s not the first time and it won’t be the last time.” Easier said than done.

Cape St. Vincent and Sagres

This Cape at the southwestern tip of Portugal once marked the end of the known world and was the point of departure for explorations of discovery. It has a bad reputation for wind and waves, exposed to the full force of the Atlantic and a confused meeting of the waters as you turn east towards the Mediterranean. From Oeiras, we made the typical pilgrimage, traveling 50 miles down to Sines and then 60 miles around the Cape. From Oeiras to Sines, we motored half the day and finished with 20 knots (typical) and from Sines to Cape St Vincent, we motor-sailed about 50 of the 60 miles, making it a safe and boring trip. As we neared the cape, the wind picked up to 19 knots and we were on a beam reach with full sail. As we only had a few miles to cover before pulling into the protected Sagres harbor, we just let out the sails with the gusts and rolled up the genoa just as things got difficult.

Helmsman Patrick making a wide turn around the Cape St. Vincent, Portugal.

After dropping the anchor, we duly congratulated ourselves and celebrated with a little bubbly (okay, it was beer, but there were bubbles-a-plenty). We sailed our boat around the Iberian Peninsula! It may be small potatoes for some, but it’s a major accomplishment for us. Some sailors we talked to before leaving said they wouldn’t sail around this area because of its rough reputation. One couple we met en-route got scared during a difficult passage and turned around to head back north. We’ve been very lucky (and cautious) with the weather so far and it has paid off. The most important thing is to not have a calendar and to not be in a hurry. As the old saying goes, “sailors with no calendar always have good weather.” I hope we can keep living up to this motto.

Mareda nestled into the protected Sagres Ensenada.

Sagres is the village established by Henry the Navigator to repair and supply ships destined for discovery. History marks it as the site of a famous school of navigation, but our nautical guidebook says the existence of the school is an unsubstantiated myth. The harbor is breathtakingly beautiful and is a wonderful first stop in the Algarve. It’s everything we expected from the Algarve and the Mediterranean: cream-colored cliffs, turquoise water, sandy beaches. We spent a quiet night at anchor and although the weather was supposed to turn blustery, we decided to spend another day and night in the harbor.

French flag over the Sagres Fort and supposed navigation school of Henri the Navigator.

We took a few precautions to lie comfortably in the 20 – 30 knots winds forecast for the evening. We moved closer to the beach to be more sheltered by the cliffs, dug the anchor into the sand and increased the scope to 5:1 (at high water, meaning that it’s about 6:1 most of the time). With gusts roaring down from the cliffs, we also decided it was a good time to test my riding sail to keep the boat pointed into the wind and avoid the windshield-wiper swinging effect that strains the chain and makes for an uncomfortable ride. We are pleased to announce that it was easy to install, and based on our motion compared to those of our neighbors around us, it seems to be working like a charm. We still get a little bit of swing but the sail kicks in and pushes the tail back in line with the wind before the chain gets strained. With my plastic shackles, it doesn’t make noise on the backstay as it tacks from side to side.

The birth of the riding sail from Spray's old mainsail. Posted this photo on 22 May on the Facebook page as I calculated dimensions and cut the sail.

My riding sail doing its job in the Sagres Ensenada.

The next morning, the gusts had died to around 10-15 knots and we were ready to head to Lagos, a short 16 miles east. As soon as we hauled up the anchor and motored 100 meters back from the protecting cliffs, the wind started screeching through the mast. 27 knots ! We hoisted the sail with 2 reefs and tried to convince ourselves that it was just a local effect around the headland and that things would be different once we got out of the bay. They were different. We had 31 knots outside the bay. The sea was choppy but with no swell and we were on a beam reach. We put Mareda on the correct heading and eased the sail out to minimize the heel. We were doing 6 knots with only the mainsail double-reefed. After half an hour, things died down to a more comfortable 23 knots and we rolled out a handkerchief-sized patch of genoa. As we progressed east, we could see dark clouds over the cliffs that came to a sudden end about 5 miles ahead. When we got near this cloud break, the winds dropped from 23 knots to 6 within a span of 15 minutes. We rolled out the rest of the genoa and proceed on to Lagos, shaken and perplexed but glad that it was over.

Looking back at our nautical guides, we now believe what they say: the effects around big headlands like Cape St Vincent can extend for 5 miles. When you look at the grib files for the area (meteorological maps), you see very high winds around the Cape and light winds east of there. Lesson learned: watch out for those headlands and give them a wide berth.

Oeiras and Lisbon

Note: we are currently in Albufeira, Portugal, a stone's throw away from Faro. We hope to make it into the estuary of Faro tomorrow and enjoy a little down-time. I am about 3 blog posts behind because internet is difficult to come by here. I try to give more timely updates on the Facebook page, but the details will have to wait. Cheers, friends.

The Oeiras marina is only 5 miles away from Cascais but worlds apart in terms of attitude. It’s a small marina that requires tight manoeuvers, and a reservation ahead of time is a good idea. But the marina staff are almost excessively friendly and the price is unbelievable: for a 7-night stay, the price averages out to about 26 euros a night, compared with 44 Euros in Cascais. The transportation to Lisbon is a simple 15-minute walk to the train station and a 20-minute ride into Lisbon, which deposits you in the center of town. The marina has a few restaurants around it as well as a good-sized grocery store within a 10-minute walk, and visitors to the marina are given free passes to the aquatic park across the street. There are two beautiful (crowded) beaches within walking distance, a nice bike path, and … hang on to your hats…fresh bread is delivered daily to your cockpit. We did miss the attraction of a town like Cascais, but in terms of a base for visiting Lisbon, Oeiras is hard to beat.

Beach near Oeiras Marina

Mareda, far right, Oeiras

The whale tail, symbol of Oeiras marina

Lisbon was a bit disappointing, in fact. It was so crowded with tourists that we gave up doing a few things we wanted to do. We managed to squeeze in most of the “must see” places and thoroughly enjoyed the Jeronimo (St Jerome) monastery. Truth be told, we’re getting a bit fed up with religious edifices and fortresses. We countered this by visiting the museum of modern art in Lisbon and got a good dose of secular bewilderment.