Jacona

We stood on the boat eyeing bewilderedly the mountain of stuff we had decided to bring with us for our ‘not really sure where we’re going as long as it’s somewhere warm’ trip. Where were we going to put it all? How could we fit it into that small space beneath our feet.  We also had to live there for a year surrounded by it all. I get the idea we’d taken too much. We both had ideas on who was to blame. I thought Sheryn was trying to fill the boat with too much pampering and comfort stuff, whilst Sheryn thought that I had bought half of Cobwoods our local ironmongery. Secretly I knew that all the stuff I had bought was absolutely essential to the running and maintenance of the boat for one year whilst most of the stuff Sheryn had was superfluous to requirements. I know Sheryn knew differently as we began to bicker about what to put on and what to take off.

Emotions were running high. We had just lost our house, jobs and cars to move into this small plastic box. Bob and Eirwen came down to give us a bit of morale support that night and a few drinks later we were feeling a lot better, but this didn't really assist our ultimate goal which was to put all that stuff somewhere. The next day it started disappearing into various cubby holes and we managed to fill a few boxes of non essentials to take off the boat. Chris lent us his formula 1 Escort van for a day and we managed to pack all the surplus stuff back to the house.  We picked up a few more bits and bobs to replace all the stuff we had taken back, but this was mainly food that would disappear eventually. Bob popped down to take the ladder back as this was still up the mast for fiddling around up top. There were still a hundred jobs to be done. We had spent too much time preparing the house for others and there were just not enough hours in the day to do boat stuff.

The next day we set off for Ilfracombe. It was just a mini shakedown trip outside the locks but the wind was kind, in the wrong direction of course, and we carried on motoring most of the way to beat the tide. I was still screwing bits and bobs to the boat most of the way up but it passed the time whilst the sun popped in and out from behind the clouds. Kukla from CYC bobbed up and down in the Range outside Ilfracombe and Colin from Hidden Secret made sure we had a secure place on the south wall in the inner harbour. We spent the night swapping boaty scare stories with the South Wales Fire Brigade. This was probably enough to make anyone turn back and never leave the harbour again.

We knew the boat was leaking around the prop shaft before we set off and that something had to be done about it. This was the time to do it. After the tide went out and we were leant precariously against the wall, I removed the prop shaft and stuff box. I cleaned everything scrupulously and filled any suspect area. with as much gooey stuff as possible. That should do the trick I made myself believe, and sure enough it did. A couple of days later, after sitting out relatively strong head winds, it turned in our favour. We set off into a very choppy confused sea which was quite a shock to the system after no real sailing for about a year. As we charged down towards Lands End the system began to gradually adjust to being thrown about all over the place. Down wind sailing gets you places relatively quickly, but if the sea is up the rolling motion can be sickening to say the least.

We sailed round Lands End where the seas began to flatten and the whole world took on a more enjoyable aspect. Full sail up at last and we made our way through a shiver of basking sharks. We took a few photos and decided to carry on to Falmouth. It seems whenever we set off on a trip we always end up there and it would be a shame to break the tradition.  We had to pump the bilge a good few times on the way down. A sure sign that the leak was still there and all my hard work had been a complete waste of time.

The Harbour Master in Falmouth said we could have two free tides on the wall as long as we were using the anchorage. One tide was used up treating the inside of the stern gland which didn’t work too well and the next tide I had the cutless bearing off to wrap string and sikoflex around it. After taking the top locating screw out I managed to push a thin screwdriver straight through the hull. This had to be treated with underwater epoxy and I waxed the screw before it went back in. Job done, for now. It would have helped if I’d done it the other way round but what the hell. It’s amazing the amount of people who want to come and talk to you about nothing as the tide is coming in and you’re trying to get the prop shaft back in before the slight leak becomes a lot more serious. All this took up our only bit of settled weather and rumblings of strong winds setting in encouraged us to set off for France ASAP. The Chanel du Four did not sound too inviting in a force 8.

Off to Camaret with the wind on the nose, but the batteries needed charging anyway. It was due to back to the NW eventually. As it came round the wind freshened and a bit of drizzle set in. The next morning the wind dropped and we ended up rolling in a sloppy sea. We spent the morning sailing then motoring as the wind picked up and died. Decided on Chanel de la Helle as the tide turns earlier and picked our way through the rocks down to Camaret.

Tied up in the Marina to get cleaned up and charge various bits of equipment. We spent 3 days sitting out Gales while waiting for a weather window to cross Biscay. We then moved on to the moorings to save a bit of money and the ropes, which were starting to chafe.  More gales set in veering from SW round to N and we bounced around on our moorings with the wind blowing straight in. I decided to do a bit of shopping and took the dinghy onto the beach behind us. When I came back laden with goodies the wind had veered even more and was blowing straight on to my little beach which was now heaping up with breakers. I would have been stuck if it wasn’t for a French couple who offered to help me carry the dinghy, outboard and shopping to the town slip. I attempted an amateur semaphore conversation with Sheryn who was stranded on the boat but this only lead to confusion and her thinking that she was stranded for ever tied on to a rearing white buoy. Cabin fever was beginning to set in and the promise of more settled weather never seemed to happen. To cap it all, it was cold, overcast and damp. Was this the sort of trip we had in mind? We ended up back in the Marina passing the time looking at weather systems in wifi cafes and downloading charts from our SSB receiver.

At last the weather began to clear up here at least and on the 23^rd August we set off for Spain with a nagging doubt that there was something nasty down there to greet us. Were we doing the right thing by going now?  Would the nasty weather explode into something huge that the boat wouldn’t cope with?  Had I completely ruined Sheryn’s life by sticking her in a tupperware box and telling her that she was going to have a good time for a year at the mercy of the sea? Not a lot we can do about it now I suppose so let’s get on with it.

The wind picked up, then dropped. Sails were going up and down like a yoyo in an effort to keep the boat moving in the right direction and flogging down to a minimum. Atlantic swells from the last eight days of northerlies ensured that making the tea was not the easiest task to perform. Pour the tea out and watch it fly everywhere while you try to get the milk. Soon Sheryn had this down to a fine art. I would watch as she lurched from side to side with much banging and crashing waiting for her to throw everything in the air and give up. A perfect cup would then be handed to me in the cockpit with all surfaces spotless. How she does this is still a mystery to me. In the night it was cold so hats and gloves were essential whilst sitting out hiding behind the sprayhood and dodgers. A few boats were spotted on the first night including the Pride of Bilbao lit up like a fairy cake. After that it was just sea and relatively pleasant F4-5 sail for the next couple of days.  On the third day the wind picked up to a F6 with forecast for a gale 8 soon. The SSB weatherfax confirmed this with compressed isobars between us and the coast. The continental shelf had positioned itself directly ahead to add to the oncoming turmoil, not to mention a potential lee shore with reflecting waves. With a head full of potential disasters and one eye on the waves behind I couldn’t fail to notice a huge jet of spray shot into the air about 10 meters off the port side. My heart leapt and a huge light grey shape appeared below it as a whale surfaced and then dived. I assumed it was about 40ft long but the tail did not appear as it does in those wonderful photographs. It was swimming in the opposite direction and reappeared about 50 meters off our stern never to be seen again.

As predicted, the sea heaped up and the wind started howling. Night began to fall and we were about 50 miles from land. All of a sudden a hiss then loud bang. I put my body across the companionway and we had our first pooping. The cockpit had about a foot of water in it. Was it going to drain out of the new drain holes or gradually fill up and flood the boat? It seemed to hang around for a minute then suddenly disappear as if by magic. They worked, and another worry had vanished for the time being. This was no time to be sitting around for the night. The waves were constantly building with a strengthening wind and the influence of the continental shelf. I made sure the tiny piece of genoa was securely set and the wind vane was keeping us at a slight angle to the waves. We then both retired below and shut up shop, only popping up every now and again to keep an eye out for shipping. We had an annoying cross swell from the NE which was creating foaming peaks on the waves and you could tell when one was going to hit. Above the creaking of wood against wood as the boat flexed, you could hear a hissing noise increase in volume until bang, it hit the side. Then the crash as it swamped the deck. Sheryn said it was like a train sizzling up the track and hitting the side of the boat every few minutes. This went on through the night and neither of us slept for more than two minutes. Two times throughout the night the VHF cut in. The first we heard a loud heavy breathing. As we listened the background racket seemed to fade away and our concentration focussed on this bizarre event. The second time was someone whistling. No particular tune, but it carried on for at least two minutes. Your guess is as good as mine. As it got light the sheer height of the waves were evident and to quote Sheryn again. ‘I looked out the hatch to see a wall of water. I kept looking up and up and up and up.’  They were mountainous and steep but the boat handled them well and we were still in one piece along with every piece of equipment. As the morning progressed, the strong wind abated and we were heading into the relative shelter of Cabo Prior before La Coruna. The sun came out and the swells died. Had it all been a dream?

We anchored behind the breakwater and chucked out a trip line as the anchorage is reported to be foul. An evening celebration ensued with champagne photographs and teddies? The next couple of days were spent looking round the old town and visiting the various churches and buildings. Although neither of us practise religion, the atmosphere and silence instantly sends you into a reflective state. This gives you a chance to review your own path through life and how your actions affect and influence others.  Perhaps this sort of practice should be become more prominent in our speedy, stressed out media influenced lifestyles. Before leaving we filled up with fuel on a dropping tide. This proved a god send, as we never had time to fill our main tank with water. The few jerry cans we did fill were highly chlorinated and only fit for cleaning and washing up. We headed off towards Ares which was only 10 miles away and anchored in the small sandy bay for a couple of days. This beautiful fishing village had an atmosphere that was so laid back, it almost sent you to sleep. The sea was clear and inviting but far too cold for me to dip in anything but my little toe. During our stay, the wind would be light in the morning, pick up throughout the afternoon, howl through the evening and drop the next morning.

At 1030am we set off in light winds for Corme, the first southbound sheltered ria on the Costa del Morte. As we crossed Bajos de Baldayo the wind freshened. At one point we were surrounded by black and white dolphins for a good 20 minutes, some with young, swimming as though attached to the mother by an invisible force field. As we passed Islas Sisargas the NE wind increased to a good F6. Not far to go we thought as the wind continued to increase. It was easy to see why the coastland was littered with wind farms, most in regimental lines from east to west. As we rounded Pta del Rocundo the sea went white and we were down to a tiny genoa and no main yet again. We motor sailed into Corme to avoid tacking into the north easterly and anchored west of one of the large fish farming area. Corme was a relatively poor fishing village but, as is the norm in these cases the people were friendly and prepared to put themselves out to help you. I went in one shop for bread and various other bits and bobs. He didn’t have anything I asked for, so he locked up and escorted me to the places that did.

The next day we set off for Camarinas. The wind was lighter than the previous day, but still a good F6 with the obligatory large swells. The leading markers were easily discernable up the channel and the scenery was improving rapidly. This ria had plenty of fingers leading into sandy beaches and idealistic anchorages. We opted for the Marina for the first night as the wind had increased, and happily forked out 12 Euros for pontoon berth, electric and hot showers. We met a lot of boats on their way back north who had been waiting for days for the strong north easterly to drop. It looked like it was going to be a while judging by the internet forecast. The wind blew strongly every day we were there, but we spent our time wandering around in glorious sunshine. Shop prices were cheap and the Club Nautico was relaxed and easy going. Dave, from a nearby Beneteau winched me up the backstay to clip on my SSB aerial. Up till now I’d have to pull it up to the spreaders and drop it back down again if the main sail needed to come about. One day I was bound to forget and that would be the end of our aerial. The wind was blowing hard and although I had my legs wrapped around the stay, I was being thrown about like a rag doll. Then the pocket of the ‘Lazilas’ bosuns chair fell apart and the cutters fell to the deck. The ends made a nice hole in the spray hood, narrowly missing the solar panel. The rest of the pocket could be pulled off easily with two fingers. I prayed that the rest of the chair was held together with better quality thread. I managed to attach the aerial but couldn’t cut off the end of the cable ties, as I was pretty keen to get back down to earth. There was nowhere to put the cutters even if they had been sent up to me.

With strong winds still gusting, we left Camarinas en route to Muros. After a couple of hours the wind dropped to a F4 and we rounded Cape Finisterre in the best sailing conditions we’d had for a while. We took the shortcut into the Rio Muros inside Los Biuyos rocks in an almost flat sea. Muros itself was flat, but muddy and uninspiring. Grey mullet swam round with their mouths open, sweeping all the rubbish off the surface.  The depth sounder read only 5 metres from quite a long way out, and the people we thought were swimming were actually standing in the water quite close to the boat. We would have to anchor quite a long way out. With this is mind we decided to head to Portosin on the south side of the estuary. We anchored in a beautiful spot just outside the Marina breakwater. People were still lying on the small beach opposite at 8.00 in the evening. A few gusts later on and the wind picked up from the NE and blew strong for most of the night. We had 40 meters of chain out but it didn’t stop us from getting up in the night to look at the rocks close behind us. We had the anchor drag alarm on 0.01nm and luckily it stayed silent for the whole of the night.

The next day Sheryn pulled the anchor up and we headed down to Ria de Pontevedra. We passed the fantastic natural cruising ground of Ria de Arosa as we were keen to get further south with Autumn following us down. Inside Isla Ons to Sanxenxo up the Ria de Pontevedra. We decided to spend a night in the marina to get things charged up and washing done. As we rounded the breakwater we realised we had entered the playground of the rich, with huge shiny super yachts covered in little men with hosepipes and dusters. A few nights in here and we may have to sell the boat to pay the extortionate fees. That night we slept in the fore cabin with the hatch open as the air was still. Then came the invasion of the killer mosquitoes. The constant drone and itching told us they were there.  The sleeping bag was far too hot to cover up. so we ended up back in the main cabin with more air and lighter covers. The next day the itchy lumps appeared everywhere. These were the worst mosquito bites we had ever come across and we weren’t going to let it happen again. From now on nets were over all the hatches and the interior was sprayed with as much fly killer as we thought safe. Sorry ozone layer. I did buy a strip of sticky fly paper, but after walking into it several times and peeling it off my shirt I decided to throw it in the bin. That day was spent walking on beaches and paddling in the sea. Unfortunately I’d left the knotted hankie and braces at home so the true Brit image failed to impress. As we were moving down south the scenery was less bleak and the amount of tourists were increasing, but still no major ‘Costa del Sol’ style resorts. We spent the next night anchored off the beach east of the marina to give the wallet a rest.

Baiona was next on the list, to the south of the Ria de Vigo. Sheryn was going to do the navigating down the Canal del Norte between Islas Cies and the mainland. The morning started misty but this gradually began to lift to give a few miles visibility. The channel has quite a lot of large ships with a traffic separation zone thrown in for good measure. We skirted Pta Couso with Sheryn running backwards and forwards armed with pencils, dividers, compass, charts and pilot books. The wind dropped as we passed an army of small fishing boats and we switched the engine on. As we approached the islands, the craggy wooded scenery with white sandy beaches made us head straight for the anchorage and we dropped the hook off Playa Arenas das Rodas. We pumped up the dinghy and rowed up to the white sandy beach. The walk up to the light house was cool in the trees, with stunning views of the vast Atlantic Ocean. The mainland could be seen with rolling clouds of mist beginning to form over the hills. This was probably a sign to get a bit of a move on and get into Baiona with moderate visibility. We walked down overlooking the large salt lake behind the sand bar. There was a small camp site as we approached the beach. There were no rubbish bins, just notices saying that all rubbish must be removed from the islands by whoever brought it in. The islands are a nature reserve and definitely an area of outstanding beauty. We arrived in Baiona still in one piece and anchored in flat calm outside the town. Sheryn flaked out early complaining that navigating was far to exhausting and should really be left to someone else. We were still unsure as to whether we were going right or left as we ventured further south.

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