SAILING

Ten years later

In the spring 1995 I retired. Six months earlier we had bought a yacht, which was now in perfect condition. It was an Avance 36 sloop called 'High Noon'. In June we started the sailing and headed to Gotland, following the route, which had become familiar to me in the 80s. My wife Tarja was novice in offshore sailing, but she proved to be untiring in keeping watch.

We traversed the Baltic Sea without incidents and passed the Kiel Canal to the North Sea. The latter offered a surprise as so many times before. When entering the marina of Cuxhaven the westward stream was at its strongest, and it was a real fight to get inside. Almost every summer one of the entrants from the Baltic Sea loses his yacht or at least suffers heavy damages on the treacherous sandbanks of the German Bight. The strong streams and the shallow coast, which practically doesn't offer any ports of shelter as well as the heavy ship traffic, are the main reasons for the disasters. The Frisian Islands, which look so inviting in the charts of a large scale, doesn't offer any protection at all and are almost impossible to enter.

When we entered the Scheveningen Marina in Holland in almost no wind, crews were busy fastening their yachts with extra ropes to the pontoons. We asked for an explanation, and the answer was 'A storm is approaching'. Some weather forecast stated a 10 Beaufort cyclone was on its way to these areas. So we fixed also our boat with care to the neighbor yacht.

The night was peaceful, and when we sailed away in the morning, there was only a faint breeze blowing on the sea.

Almost collisions

At this time the wind had turned to the West and increased considerably. In no time when we had started beating towards it in order to get to the port of Dover, it had developed to a gale force and given birth to ever growing waves.

We put two reefs in the mainsail and rolled away the main part of the genoa. As it was already very late afternoon, and as we wanted to get to the shelter of the port before night, the motor was started again.

Our anemometer showed the wind speed being a bit under 40 knots, which meant when the four knots of our boat’s speed were deducted from it that the wind force was almost 8 bf. It felt like a miracle, that our boat could proceed forward with the modest engin of 18 hp, as the constant heavy wind, nasty waves and hard hitting spray were all opposing our progress.

But the East coast of England approached at the same time as the darkness entered, and before the midnight we were luckily before the entrance of the Dover harbour. I phoned the harbormaster and we got the permission to enter.

Inside the breakwaters the launch of the harbour officials lead us to the inner basin, where we could tie up to the side of a big vessel. It was low water tide, so it was only later on that we could enter the sheltered Wellington Dock.

After a couple of days we sailed along the English coast in good order and passed a famous area after another. The last and longest leg was from Lymington to Falmouth. When approaching the Start Point it was night, and then I got very sleepy. Tarja told me she was not tired at all and promised to be on watch. I instructed her to head for the Eddystone Light, which is in the middle of the Plymouth Bay.

She woke me up in the darkness. 'I cannot turn the boat, we are sailing against the tower!' I ran into the cockpit. The light tower and the old stump next to it were in front of us on the starboard side some fifty meters from us. I disclosed the wind-pilot chain from the tiller, where it was jammed in an unusual way, and heavily pushed the tiller to windward. The boat swayed and turned. We were in the clear. Tarja had taken my words too literally, not knowing that the towers had probably a large pedestal of rocks under the water and should be given a wide berth when passing.

Bay of Biscay

And then all of a sudden the color of the water changed. Now it was deep blue, and we knew that we were on the right track. It was an unforgettable moment to sail the first time on a deep ocean. Now we really knew also what was meant with the expression of 'blue-water sailing'.

When we pumped in the night seawater in the head, we saw innumerable glistering points in the water. It was always like a miracle.

We had a favorable weather almost all the time. The fifth morning the wind died out, the sunshine was warmer than before, and the swell was high and wide. A Spanish ship passed by and soon disappeared swallowed by the waves. It was an unreal world, and I did not like it. The sea should not be as this. We motored patiently towards the Spanish coast, which was not far away. La Coruña was our port of entry.

Accident by the Cape Finisterre

Seppo, the skipper of the yacht 'Lady Rosé', told us that when we had passed the Cape Finisterre, the difficulties would be over. When the weather forecast promised wind forces of 4-6 BF, we left the small port of Lage and headed towards the famous cape. We had northerly winds of 15 knots and made good progress with the full mainsail and our usual foresail, genoa II.

Two years earlier we had become radio amateurs, we both had received licences to be able to communicate with other stations with a short wave radio. Tarja had tried the hobby a couple of times, but I had been quite interested in it since then. On a maritime travel it meant a great pastime.

I had a good distant contact with the Ham radio and was conversing eagerly. Our Windpilot was taking care of the steering, and Tarja was keeping watch and taking care of the sails. She shouted, that we were occasionally surfing with the speed of 10 knots. A little later came the announcement '11 knots now'. When she shouted '12.4 knots', the whole boat was shaking, and I felt in the galley the tremendous speed we were making. I finished the 'QSO' and leaped to the cockpit.

The waves had grown considerably and were throwing the 'High Noon' forward with a great force. I did not like to turn the boat to the weather as usual, but started lowering the mainsail immediately. The preventer was fixed between the stem and the kicking-strap attachment in the boom. To a great mischief I did not check the tightness of that rope.

When the mainsail started to come down, the wind got on the other side of it and then threw the boom with force over. The sheets came on me like a giant hand and hit me against the bulkhead. It was such a whack, that I could not breathe for a while, not to speak of thinking.

With time we got the mainsail down and continued with the bare genoa. The next marina was too far away, so we headed for the small fishing port of Corrubedo. With accurate navigation we found the fairway leading there and dropped the anchor. I was sick, but we had a quiet and peaceful night among the many fishing boats.

The next day we sailed to Bayona, where the first palm trees wished us welcome. The gentle breeze was warm, and the lobsters in the windows of the waterfront restaurants had enormous whiskers. At last we had arrived in the South.

There were clear marks in my chest where the sheet ropes had hit me. The pains had been constant, but I was sure no ribs were broken. Two days later when taking a shower I noticed quite shocked, that my chest was bright red all around. What was going on? We hesitated no more and took a cab to the hospital. The waiting room was full with people, but when the doorman saw the broad red belt of my chest, I was hurried through the back door to the physician's room. The young female Spanish doctor did not speak English, but fortunately I could manage quite well with her language.

'What has happened?' the doctor asked. I described the accident. 'No, no', she answered. 'You have shingles'. I tried to mutter something in open-eyed amazement, but then fell silent. 'I'll write you a prescription of virus medicines. Are you retired?' I gave a nod. 'They are very expensive, but as you are retired they will cost you nothing.' And really when I got the medicaments from the pharmacy and was ready to pay for them, the druggist bowed politely and told me they are free.

Racing with the fog

The pains continued day and night during ten days. Then we got impatient and decided to continue our cruise. Unfortunately we chose a wrong day, as we before long could see. The next port was on the Portuguese side and it was Viana do Castelo, only some 20 miles southwards from Bayona.

After two hours of peaceful sailing a fog bank covered us in its veil. We hoped it would disperse in a couple of hours, so that we could find the port. That was not the case, and we sailed and sailed on in an increasing wind. Viana had been passed long ago when the fog disappeared, and we could see the coast again. In the distance the stone moles of the next port, Povoa de Varzim, could be seen quite clearly. We were really relieved until we noticed a new fog bank appearing from behind. It was like a race: we approached the port and the fog came closer. Half an hour from the port the white veil won, we were again inside the fog and could see nothing around us. So the sail continued.

Our next hope of finding a port before the night was the big oil harbor Leixoes. It became a race against the sun. And we lost that race too. The night came, and we were in total darkness with no moon or stars. The port was several miles farther. We did not like to enter an unknown port in darkness if not absolutely necessary. I had constant pains in my chest. The boat was tossing about in the waves. As the wind came from behind the mainsail slammed continuously making awful noise in the galley. I was hanging from handholds and was very tired.

Outside the Portuguese coast there are all kinds of fish traps marked with poles. The possibility of bumping into them was a constant threat, but we had to go on. The next suitable port Figueira da Foz was far away. We had to sail through the night and hope for the best.

Dolphin, dolphin!

Cape San Vincent

We were approaching the Cape San Vincent, as the moon and the other lights disappeared behind thickening clouds. At last it was totally dark. The wind died out, and we continued motoring. With the help of the chart and GPS-navigator it was not a difficult task to round the cape. But it was a ghostly feeling to progress slowly on a calm sea in a total darkness. Now and then some red, white or green lights could be seen from passing ships. This was the south coast where the Portuguese explorers waited in their ancient ships for the propitious winds. The Bay of Sagres is famous for this reason. It is quite open, but may be used as a shelter as the winds mainly blow from the north.

The dawn came, and we saw the coastline again.

The funeral of a fish

Lagos has probably the finest marina in Europe. We spend there many days; too many perhaps taking into account that the berth prices are quite high. A long canal leads into it starting outside from the sea. In the canal are innumerable fishes, 'mulhos' as they call them in Portugal. One day when we are walking along the canal, where it forms a border to the antique city of Lagos, one fish is behaving quite exceptionally. It swims in half on the surface making leaps now and then. It looks sick and tries to breathe vigorously when on the surface. Suddenly it stops totally keeping its head on the surface but the rest of the body being vertically towards the bottom. Thereafter all other fishes from the nearby water come to the sick fish and start swimming round it. There are at least a hundred fishes and swimming they form a circle.

The sick fish gets stiff and slowly sinks in the same vertical position to the bottom between the rocks down there. When it has disappeared all other fishes stop the merry-go-round and return to their former activities.

We continue our walk very astonished of the behavior of the fishes and of the unusual spectacle. During the next six months we have an opportunity to follow the life of the port fishes in different marinas, but we shall never more see such a show as in Lagos.

Prisoners on the Lake of Alvor

A neighbor tells us about the Lake of Alvor and gives instructions on how to get there. One morning we follow suit and sail two miles along the coast to the east and find the small moles of the entrance of the channel. The timing is perfect, one hour after the low water. The land is low on all sides and the track of the channel is winding. There is just enough depth to go on in the middle of the river.

The river leads to a lake with a small village on the eastern coast. That is Alvor. In the lake there are a couple of boats in anchor, and we join them dropping our Bruce in about ten meters of water.

Four hours later the channel has disappeared and a great part of the land on the western side of the lake. We are now prisoners in the lake, far from the sea. It would be quite impossible to find the way out of the lake to the sea before the next low tide.

The ghosts of Trafalgar

The traverse of the large Bay of Cadiz leads us past the Cape of Trafalgar. There is one underwater rock to be aware of; the second is near the Marina of Benalmadena. Only two between Portugal and the southeastern part of Spain! How different is the navigation in the Finnish Archipelago, where the next rock is lurking immediately after you have cleared the preceding.

  I wondered how the Spanish had taken the name of Trafalgar to one of their sites. It is English because there is the Trafalgar Square in London, isn't it? But as you know the matter is just the other way round. Later in a cave in Gibraltar we can read tables describing the great sea battle between the English Navy and the French-Spanish Armada.

It is a dark night when we navigate past the rock of the Trafalgar battle area. We can almost feel the ghosts of hundreds of drowned soldiers. High Noon makes good headway and approaches Tarifa and Strait of Gibraltar.

They say that the entrance in the Straits can be very problematic, but when it is our turn there is no wind and we cannot notice any current. We visited the port of Tarifa, that does not seem to be a site adapted for a yacht. Beyond in the Straits we sailed near the Spanish rocky coast. We see an old empty wooden boat being in the drift and then a police launch pulling it away with a planing speed. Who knows what a tragedy happened here the last night?

The apes of Gibraltar

In the great bay between Algeciras and the rock of Gibraltar we found our friends delfins, there were flocks of hundreds swimming and jumping above the water. They escorted us towards the Sheppard marina, next to the runway of Gibraltar. But before we had to do laborious customs declarations, as always in Portugal and for years in England.

The traffic is very hectic in Gibraltar. I cannot understand why, as the length of the city is of a limited width. You can walk it from the end to end in a half hour. And yet the main streets are so crowded with the cars you are in a constant danger of being overrun.

Another disappointment was the price level of the food and drinks and boat equipments. We knew the reputation of this toll-free town. Yet a bottle of whisky costs here always more than 10 pounds, and in the neighboring Spanish Andalucía you may easily find such in a supermarket with 1500 pesetas or even less. And the same applies to almost all eats. In the Sheppard Marina you may find all possible parts for your yacht, but at golden prices. Same applies to the work.

But further down on the slope are more interesting objects: the apes of Gibraltar. The gather to meet the tourist cars on the small road. But we prefer to walk through the paths in the woods and sit quietly on some stones and follow the doings of some distant group of an ape family.

The path goes on the edge of a drop, so we march carefully bewaring the stones and roots on the trail bed. Then I say to Tarja: ’Look who is marching beside you’. Then she notices the great male ape, that is walking quietly to the opposing direction. She freezes to an immobile statue, until the hairy brown animal has disappeared.

Later on I sit on a stony balustrade with an ape family in the immediate neighborhood. The ape child is very small. It is wise not to stick your hand towards it and if you do it, keep the palm side up as if offering something. The big males may be dangerous and bite without warning if they think their offspring is threathened.

The airport of Gibraltar is peculiar. It has been partly constructed on the fillings in the sea beside the Marina Bay. The lateral traffic goes straight through the runway. The cars, bicycles and walking tourists pass it when the traffic lights are green.

Gibraltar has its own money, but English pounds are as well accepted. When leaving the town do not forget Gibraltar pounds in your pockets, as where else can you change them back in other values?

The official language is English, but there are a lot of Spanish spoken people. Many use both languages.