Blog
18.9.17
Back
on the ocean waves! We left the boat in early July as it was
starting to get uncomfortably hot. I found a boatyard on the border
between Portugal and Spain who would take her out of the water and
look after her for a couple of months whilst we soaked up the joys
of an English summer. Just before we left, Tim and girl fiend Lucy came out to see us for the weekend. Tim brought his kiting gear, the wind
blew and Tim performed! We found a sand bar where we launched Tims kite, a perfect spot for the spectators!
In the 1960’s the Californians took their girls out on surfboards; the in 21st century……..
We
planned to come out together to start the journey east but Melanie
needed a little more time at home so I set off on my own to get some
miles under the keel and arranged to pick up Melanie in Malaga. I put
the boat back in the water on tuesday 12 September and picked up a
cracking westerly wind the following day, a long but exciting 70 mile
sail to Cadiz. The pilot book said that swell from passing ferries
made the marina at Cadiz very uncomfortable so with a little research
I discovered a very nice looking anchorage up the river but the chart
showed a road bridge between the sea and the anchorage. One of the
terrible shortcomings of the electronic charts I am using is that the
clearance under bridges (and therefore my ability to pass under it
with a 20 meter high mast) is often not shown; such was the case
here; I would have to suck it and see. As I approached the bay it
became apparent that I needn’t have been concerned, the Queen Mary
would not have had to duck to get under this rather elegant new
bridge!
Cadiz
is a very old city and is yet another of the cities visited by our
friend Francis Drake who had quite a penchant for beating up the
Spanish…. The city is on a peninsular and was fortified from the
very early days with these rather super walls; standing on the sea
front I could picture the Spanish soldiers looking out to see at
Drake anchored just off shore whilst he considered the possibilities
of rape and pillage in the city.
I don’t know when this tree was
planted but I must have seen some things – if only they could talk!
The
following day with my westerly still blowing at 20 knots I headed for
the Straights of Gibralter and entrance to the Med.
25
miles from Cadiiz is the last of the great capes of Spain and the
sight of the most famous naval engagement ever fought; Cape
Trafalgar. I threw up a salute to our main man who copped it that
day. I think today’s military would have something to say about
standing on the deck of your ship wearing your admirals hat and
dripping with gold braid that shouted ‘I’m the boss, shoot me’
- which of course the obligingly did!
As
I rounded the cape the great Atlas mountains on the north tip of
Africa came into sight; just 8 miles separate the two great
continents of Europe and Africa at this point with the Straight of
Gibraltar running in between. With Trafalgar on my left, Africa on
my right and a spanking wind behind me we turned east towards the Med
and onto the next chapter of our adventure. It was 1500 miles as the
crow flies and 5000 miles sailed from my last big turning point when
I turned south from the fjords of Norway 4 years ago; it was a moving
moment.
At the southern tip of Spain is a small town called Tarifa where I planned
to anchor for the night. I dropped my hook at about 5 o’clock and
dived in for a well earned swim. As I circumnavigated the boat I
noticed an ominously official looking boat making a beeline for me.
Indeed it was the harbour pilot who told me I could not anchor there
as it was a national park. I am sure that was tosh as these are
generally shown on the chart but I had heard about belligerent
spanish officials in this area who often move anchored yachts on and
into their over priced marinas. I decided I wasn’t going to stay in
their grotty harbour and set sail once again for Gibraltar, 15 miles
away.
The
rate of evaporation in the Med is considerably higher than the amount
of water flowing in from its rivers. The result is a considerable
height difference between the Med and the Atlantic; the water at the
western (Atlantic) end of the 30 mile long straights is a staggering
2-3 meters higher than at the eastern end so as you can imagine there
is a permanent easterly current as the waters of the Atlantic try to
restore equilibrium. Hopping on this conveyor added another 3 knots
to my boat speed and in less than an hour the great Rock of Gibralter
came into sight. The Rock of Gibraltar, one of the great bastions of
the British Empire and the romance of the gateway to the orient –
what a let down! I have seen some hideous places in my time but this
truly takes the biscuit. The bay of Gibraltar is one big tanker park
with the shore line being consumed by oil refineries. The rock itself
has a concrete jungle at its foot akin to Hong Kong with the slopes
being carved up by roads and centuries of military detritus. If you
are ever down here, give it a miss!
To
just rub in the urban aggression of the place this great bully
continued on a collision course with me with clearly no intention of
giving way despite the right of way being clearly mine; who says size
doesn’t matter?!
Furthermore, I felt something of a minnow parked in front of this super yacht!
Once
there I did the tourist bit and had an interesting morning seeing the
famous Gibraltar Macau monkeys and learning about the fascinating
military history of the place.
I
hit the road again on Monday and headed up the Costa del Sol to pick
up Melanie and Woody at Malaga.
