A bit of a hairy ride!

Santander is a lovely city, different from the moment we sailed into to the grand entrance to the river despite the greyness of the day. 

We anchored close to a little beach and headed into town for supplies and an explore.

 One of the grand buildings is the head office of the Santander bank, purely phycological of course but it certainly gave the impression of a good solid place to have your money with!

After exploring the city on Saturday we headed off to the other side of the bay behind a long sandy peninsular to get away from the crowds. Well, that was the idea. 

On Sunday we left the boat for a delightful bike ride through the rolling countryside behind Santander. When we got back to the boat that we had left all on its own in the morning, half of Santander seemed to have joined us -

I like Spain. There is a lovely atmosphere here; Mediterranean, relaxed and slightly rustic - and nice and warm of course!


A little bit of the charm is the bells that seems to ring at all times of the day.






Like most of the building, the churches lack the elegance of the French churches but have a rustic charm of their own.

Whilst anchoring Woody disappeared for a while. At 45' long it isn't that big a place to loose a dog, but then that  depends on the quality of his hiding place; we found him in the anchor locker unable to get out!

Having a Woody and a Waddy aboard has been the source of some confusion!




We left Santander on Monday afternoon with a spanking following wind and had a rather longer sail than planned. There was a 3-4 meter swell out at sea, exciting when it got under the stern and the boat surged ahead riding the wave but we soon discovered a problem with it. We were headed for a river for the night. Like most rivers it had a sand bar at the entrance and the pilot book warned not to try and enter at low tide if a swell was running because the swell could break on the shallow bar. It was just about high tide when we arrive so I figured we would get in despite the swell; I was wrong. I could see the waves breaking on the shore as we approached but there is usually a gap in the breakers at the river entrance; not here. As we got within a few hundred yards the swell was getting bigger as it developed into rolling waves as the water depth reduced. As we rode the crest of one of the waves towards the entrance I rapidly decided that surfing into a river with an entrance no wider than 50 metres was a bad plan! I threw the helm over, gunned the engine and high tailed it back out to sea.

It was now getting late. It was 6 o'clock, the next harbour was 16 miles away and sunset was at 9.30. Whats more the pilot book warned of another sandbar and the tide would be running out when we arrived which would increase the size of any waves on the bar; I was beginning to think we might end up with a night at sea!

We had a strong wind behind us and made a good 7 knots which put us at the harbour mouth at 9pm. Happily the entrance was set at 45 degrees to the swell thus much of its force was killed by the entrance walls. I approached with considerable caution with my eyes glued to the depth gauge, I could still see waves breaking in the entrance but they did not look big. As long as the depth remained greater than about 4m I would continue in. The standing waves caused by the tide running out at about 2 knots made for a bit of a hairy ride but the depth held and with considerable relief we entered the most beautiful harbour I have seen yet. I took this photo as the sun set.

We had found a real gem in San Vincente de La Barquera (even the names are great!)

Swimming dogs and drinking chocolate!

For the next few days from Hendeye on the Spanish - French border the winds were very light so it was the iron sail that got us from place to place (God bless the internal combustion engine!)
We arrived in San Sebastian at fiesta time, lots going on but marginally more crowded than Oxford street on Christmas eve!

We were joined by Tim and his girlfriend Lucy for a few days which was lovely.

A little tapas fortified Tim to test just how quickly he could loose the potential energy gained by climbing some of the impressive local limestone and coming up with a new sport of dinghy surfing!

Woody has now taken to doing his Titanic bit in the dinghy as well as the bow of the boat, the only trouble is that he is rather enthusiastic when coming ashore or back to the boat and has a tendency to leap ashore or aboard from his position in the dinghy bow.





Melanie generally hangs on to him to prevent an unplanned swim but coming back to the boat alone with me after the morning bread run he got a little over enthusiastic to get back on the boat and leapt when we were a good 2' away...... when he landed the boat was not where he hoped it would be! I hoicked something of a drowned rat out of the water and showered him down but he was not allowed back down below until he had dried off!





On Sunday Tim and Lucy flew home and Melanie also left to go back for her next cough clinic and visit to Mum.

My friend Mark came out to join me for a few days as we continued west to our next port, Castro Urdiales where we moored alongside the harbour wall with these rather splendid old buildings as a backdrop.








We are now surrounded by some pretty impressive mountains; Mark and I donned walking boots to climb the local 2000' peak. The coastline is also very impressive with some mighty slabs of rock dropping vertically into the sea.










Like monks all over the world the monks here have found some pretty wacky places to get closer to their God!

















Yesterday Mark left for home and I was joined by Waddy, my first mate and chief chef from the Irish trip.

Unfortunately for him the trip suddenly turned a bit too Irish as the rain came in and the wind sprung up from nowhere. 

We had a hard beat in 20 knots of wind to Santander .

It has been so long now since I beat into a heavy wind that i forgot to close the sink inlets which, when the boat is heavily leaning dip below the outside water level and the sea comes back up through the drain


 - thats the drinking chocolate and olive pot swilling around at the back of a rather tipped kitchen worktop!

Fortunately there is a little window just above  - just in the right place to bail out through!

Arriving at the Basque country

After Arachon we had a brief stop at Cap Breton but it would have given Blacpool a run for its money so we moved on pretty quickly. Heading for the Basque country we passed Biarritz on our left. What once might have been a very classy seaside resort for the French elite is now a rather horrid concrete jungle. As the whole of this coast is known for its surf we did not anchor off and go ashore (there is no harbour); our pink dinghy does not surf well!








It was just 20 miles to the point where the coast turned west and the Basque mountains loomed large.

Just before pulling into the river that splits France and Spain we passed this rather super chateaux built in 1880 by a frenchman who spoke 17 languages and had done a lot of travelling; the whole of the inside was decorated in weird and wonderful designs from all over the world!

We moored up on the French side of the river (first mate and little helper at the helm) - this would be the last opportunity for the rather super pastries that we have enjoyed and would miss! 

The Basque region is fiercly independant  (remember the Eta bombings of the '70's?) and the people (and local language) are certainly different from other regions of France and Spain. The Basques are said to be descendants of a Celtic tribe (the one that didn't end up in Scotland, Ireland or Brittany!) drive over the Pyrenees by the Romans in the 1st century BC.
The pilot book told us of an interesting conundrum about mooring here. It is courteous and common practice to fly the flag of the nation you are visiting in the rigging; some also fly regional flags which should be flown immediately below the national flag. So the choices if moored in the Rio Bidasoa on either side are:-
1. Fly the French flag with the Basque flag below - and upset the Basques and the Spanish
2. Fly the Spanish flag with the Basques flag below and upset the Basques and the French
3. Fly the Basques flag and upset the both the French and the Spanish
4. Fly no flag at all and upset everybody - !!!
We plumped for the Spanish flag as we intended to moor on that side but ended up on the French side with our Spanish courtesy flag up so I think we added a 5th line!

We noticed early on in France that the French authorities do like their rules- they are even worse than the Germans! I particularly liked this sign at the trail head of the coastal foot path in Hendeye, the French side of the river.

No dogs (on or off the lead)
No bikes
No cars (on the coastal footpath) or motorbikes 
No matches
No tenting or sleeping outside
No wandering off the footpath

- the game is to spot what you are allowed to do.

However, what I love about the French is that they just ignore them all!

The other thing we have noticed here is how slim they all are, very few over weight people - cheese and red wine must be the answer (not forgetting the afternoon snooze)!

Not having had any mountains for a few weeks we hired a car and headed inland to do some walking in the Pyrenees Mountains. They have their very own Snowdon here, 3000' high, a few miles in from the coast, it even has a Victorian rack and pinion railway! The other similarity it had was the people, thousands of them despite picking a back route up! Oh well, it as a lovely day in the mountains.

 We have had our first sortie into Spain. Cycling over the river the change was extraordinary with everything looking distinctly poorer. However it did also look very Spanish! I am looking forward to exploring the rest of this coast.

Things that go bump in the night

Our next stop after St Nazaire was the pretty island Ile d’Yeu. We have struggled with nice anchorages off the west coast of France because there are so few natural inlets and coves so we have been forced back on marinas. We found just the place to anchor on the south coast of the island but even here the swell snuck round the corner somehow so I lifted the keel and tucked right in close inside a load of moorings for what we hoped would be a good nights sleep far from the madding crowd. We did have a lovely barbecue on the beach where Woody discovered a taste for Stella and pistachio nuts! 

Our quiet night however was not to be. At 3 o’clock we were woken by a gentle ‘thump, thump’ at the back of the boat – I knew that sound , it was the rudders nibbling the rocks! I shot out of bed and sure enough the tide was very low, the wind had changed direction and left us a little too close to the rocky shoreline. Wearing nothing but a quickly donned jumper and a smile I jumped into the dinghy tied conveniently to the back of the boat with the outboard engine on and pulled the boat away from the rocks. There are several things that need doing before the boat can move so Melanie whizzed round getting things ready as I held the boat away from the rocks with the dinghy; ‘nearly there’ she shouted - just as the dinghy engine cut – I was out of petrol. Now we would have to move fast or we would be right back where we started and the tide was still falling. I leapt back on board as Melanie went for the anchor, up it came and we motored out beyond the mooring to resume our nights sleep. Alls well that ends well!

After a good walk on the island we raised the anchor and headed for Ile de Re and La Rochelle. France has suddenly become very Mediterranean here; the water has warmed up to pleasant swimming temperature, we are surrounded by pine trees and crickets and the houses are all white with clay half round tiles. Unfortunately it has also become very, very busy – the whole of France seems to be on holiday here! Marinas are full, beaches are packed and bike paths are like rush hour. We did manage to find a couple of places at this little sea food bar on our bike ride of the island. 

Langustine for lunch and I bought a small bag of oysters for tea!

Wanting to try and escape at least the crowds of yachts by going to a less holiday cruise friendly place we decided to make a big hop to Arachon, 100 miles south of La Rochelle; an easy overnight passage. The Gironde just south of La Rochelle and the gateway to Bordeaux is the last big river on the French Atlantic coast. From there the coast is long and straight with only a couple of harbours before Spain, Arachon being the first so we are now very much on our way to Spain. With a couple of days in each of the two harbours on the way we should be there in about a week. I am excited; it will be different and rather more adventurous than France, it is not a common cruising ground.

Wind has been hard to come by since things turned warm . We waited until about midday before leaving in the hopes of getting a sea breeze but it was a long time coming – look at the surface of the water -I have seldom set out on passage with quite so little wind! 

Although late starting the breeze did pick up in the early afternoon giving us a pleasant sail for the first 40 miles doing 4 knots over a calm sea. Sundowners under the colourful spinnaker on the fore deck as we slipped slowly south – it can be a tough life at sea!

As the sun dropped we were joined by a school of dolphins that played in the bow wave for a while, always a magical moment. The wind dropped with the sun and we had to motor the rest of the way.

Arachons’ claim to fame is Europes largest sand dune at just over 300’ high. We walked easily up the gentle slop of the seaward side but the lee side is steep and apparently skied down! 

Later in the day the hordes descended and it looked just like a sand hill covered in ants!

At last we did find the perfect anchorage behind a long sand island, pretty and, once all the day trippers had left, quiet. A beautiful scene as the day drew to an end, the sand dunes on one sides and the sunset on the other. 

However, you guessed it, even here our perfect anchorage was not to be. We were woken at 6 o’clock by cockle boats literally going in circles round us! We had anchored in a little inlet out of the current and I guess the cockles had picked the inlet for the same reason and the fishermen knew it!

After breakfast we headed ashore with our bikes and left the dinghy tied to the railing of some steps. You would have thought that as it was the top of the beach it was a reasonable assumption that it would also be the top of the tide. A reasonable assumption but wrong as we found out upon our return to find the dinghy rope under several feet of water! Oh well, I was looking forward to a dip anyway and it had to happen sometime – better here than in Scotland! The high tide also meant that getting our gear back into the dinghy was quite a drama with a 2’ swell coming onto what little beach there was but we got everything back to the boat over 3 trips by coming alongside a slipway between rollers, throwing a bike on board and making a run for it!

From Arachon we are bound for Spain with a quick stop at Cap Breton, the only harbour on the final 100 mile stretch to Spain. Late afternoon the mountains of the Spanish Basque country loomed up out of the haze as we pulled into Cap Breton for the night.