tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83105885345258790522024-03-21T04:37:52.283+00:00Avocette of PortsmouthThe voyage of the good ship AvocetteChris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.comBlogger119125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-32700859963294361012018-07-15T14:39:00.000+00:002018-07-15T14:43:34.109+00:00Homeward Bound - but slowly!We may not have made the Azores, as we had intended, but we have been to some fabulous places, eaten great food, met lovely people, and, after the ‘rain in Spain’, it’s been wall-to-wall sunshine.<br />
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When you escape from the Solent, sailing changes. No longer is there a mad panic to get to the marina just to get a berth. No longer do you hear the long-suffering Coastguard respond to yet another radio check. No longer are you constantly dodging ferries, coasters, power boats and yachts. Life slows down. Calm returns. Even nature seems more relaxed.<br />
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Certainly heading west from Dartmouth is cruising heaven. There are so many rivers, coves, and bays to explore, sometimes in the company of another cruising boat, often just with the locals. We made the most it. We stopped first in the tranquil Yealm, it’s halcyon waters reflecting all above. We too, shared it’s mood, and sipped a glass of wine.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGfPF5Pz2CiqdMa4HeCf4Q9I3y1PvWTKeLagF2NOCwPU-OLFQpQADus4CI0RA6-tKbEcNI2pv1AD7hbykHT1R8jP2uJvlV0Q3P3U4zDWBTs5bB1rb0XV56u46kqK4Gh1gClOjaIjos2cKg/s1600/Yealm.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGfPF5Pz2CiqdMa4HeCf4Q9I3y1PvWTKeLagF2NOCwPU-OLFQpQADus4CI0RA6-tKbEcNI2pv1AD7hbykHT1R8jP2uJvlV0Q3P3U4zDWBTs5bB1rb0XV56u46kqK4Gh1gClOjaIjos2cKg/s320/Yealm.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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We found ‘Tashana’ tied up mid-stream in Fowey, and gave David a cheery wave as we passed close by. He was there for Classic Week. We caught up with old sailing club friends Chris and Kathy, now living in Looe, and shared a meal whilst enjoying the sun setting on the river.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xwUpENmkFv0QKVOLOxhgGTkYkGSsxnE7gUJ2mYH_plSoVFd28uXam0evnY4I8WEfwYX3msDaPG117QrcGqabGpPsoKlzZwYIAIp81dUuBhxulwIGFQBGn6mQmpwBfHXDUHwCp3T6qpHl/s1600/Tashana.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2xwUpENmkFv0QKVOLOxhgGTkYkGSsxnE7gUJ2mYH_plSoVFd28uXam0evnY4I8WEfwYX3msDaPG117QrcGqabGpPsoKlzZwYIAIp81dUuBhxulwIGFQBGn6mQmpwBfHXDUHwCp3T6qpHl/s320/Tashana.jpg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a><br />
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One of the joys of cruising is looking around the places you go to, enjoying the walks, views along the clifftops, and visiting the sites of times long past. Falmouth has a lovely atmosphere. It has it’s fair share of trendy seaside shops, but it has managed to keep it’s quaint and quirky local ones too. There’s also a healthy sprinkling of interesting galleries and shops all mixed in with the traditional local shops that you would expect in the high street. <br />
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Keeping a ‘watch’ on everything we do on the water is the Coastguard, and, whilst walking around the headland, past Pendennis Castle, it was good to find Falmouth Coastguard Operational Centre (CGOC) still perched on the cliff overlooking the sea and Carrick Roads unlike poor Solent Coastguard, the only National Maritime Operations Centre, who only see trees now they have been moved inland!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_J46kmxUHQOZNY01erFqTxfvn0uGOMWx4ywGdO2sQvVsPsxhYVPAMZ3Pkdu1H2-HuGEFeSzJA3YlX28o-AhrZjYeYl4pIzN3_7VsnsUnkRaaODU6ESjD8lBFEHaX_nMp484VjsKp4aMf3/s1600/MRCC.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_J46kmxUHQOZNY01erFqTxfvn0uGOMWx4ywGdO2sQvVsPsxhYVPAMZ3Pkdu1H2-HuGEFeSzJA3YlX28o-AhrZjYeYl4pIzN3_7VsnsUnkRaaODU6ESjD8lBFEHaX_nMp484VjsKp4aMf3/s320/MRCC.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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Time is running-out and soon we must turn East and head home. The Helford River is always a pleasure, but we slip out and head a few miles further south down the Lizard Peninsula, and drop the hook in Coverack Cove. The harbour clings to the rocks on the southside; it’s water draining out each low tide. Rocks are strewn around the tiny entrance, and many more litter the small beach, but in the cove the water is turquoise, and crystal clear. I watch as a cloud of sand puffs-up as the anchors drops the five meters to the sea floor.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVlBpxwPROhk4_h6fXd1XzRFiApvsiB3qO7BdMIaDgC8zgiII6yrgUyrORq3IatZNKW-4tVSxNcVjfwf3rkAZbvjoW_A6NjW9jo3DGzX1WGyBjSBdxFkGwYmRpgjwrS5WY40S_gu8PZwJ9/s1600/Coverack+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVlBpxwPROhk4_h6fXd1XzRFiApvsiB3qO7BdMIaDgC8zgiII6yrgUyrORq3IatZNKW-4tVSxNcVjfwf3rkAZbvjoW_A6NjW9jo3DGzX1WGyBjSBdxFkGwYmRpgjwrS5WY40S_gu8PZwJ9/s320/Coverack+1.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYfLnvXNgGHguQ-BTQOUy72NPIuywTRQtcOu70FXz4nYt7krsEkYRWGSKVshSTQuV1xceZswIjm16yNEBN9RIeugTj2Kd-S0WqrBXdSrolbjoE0-pYnP92oYs0BtqDm5XVWLM_7mARZxde/s1600/Coverack+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYfLnvXNgGHguQ-BTQOUy72NPIuywTRQtcOu70FXz4nYt7krsEkYRWGSKVshSTQuV1xceZswIjm16yNEBN9RIeugTj2Kd-S0WqrBXdSrolbjoE0-pYnP92oYs0BtqDm5XVWLM_7mARZxde/s320/Coverack+2.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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The sun has just crept over the horizon to illuminate the bay. The chain rattles and the anchor resists leaving its soft sand bed. It’s time to turn East – to head homewards. As we leave the bay, the dolphins come to play…..<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD7AHVWQOrDuQM8L6p2bwW49u6bXoAwK5pVVzxaAgpcnlCW-HvlWExju03WiiR6PasVP3R8Q6XxTggu3jPmRdr8qXlKgWsW-Ykya2POWWzgsM3SGt7a4TSN-49aXvKZ4rky24Oa_NuEtIY/s1600/IMG_2386.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD7AHVWQOrDuQM8L6p2bwW49u6bXoAwK5pVVzxaAgpcnlCW-HvlWExju03WiiR6PasVP3R8Q6XxTggu3jPmRdr8qXlKgWsW-Ykya2POWWzgsM3SGt7a4TSN-49aXvKZ4rky24Oa_NuEtIY/s320/IMG_2386.JPG" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibpcadrSlIUdtNwzA8Q9FBizMqHzZp6tSEmXV-IllY3MsUJA8NZYPpWUqGQDTAmErZMPA25Dhq_MtIMhXKQJUA_fdr5-MCYI-DlmM8ih9Uuew9fGdjKkf_X4lfiqEDNh7KI8GWLcGO3RAG/s1600/IMG_2393.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibpcadrSlIUdtNwzA8Q9FBizMqHzZp6tSEmXV-IllY3MsUJA8NZYPpWUqGQDTAmErZMPA25Dhq_MtIMhXKQJUA_fdr5-MCYI-DlmM8ih9Uuew9fGdjKkf_X4lfiqEDNh7KI8GWLcGO3RAG/s320/IMG_2393.JPG" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMpkaSKcj01RdVShlQDvs8SKT6mtarBlC0VbXLDO2jebUCeCeTvkA53_MhOxi-ISSN7T0QPHoGrYc6P40UNPHA8tK1Ky7bd01DqBFvjlJuIlhYfZx7yzGmQjctHrkBMJbzoDp-gNG927D4/s1600/IMG_2396.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMpkaSKcj01RdVShlQDvs8SKT6mtarBlC0VbXLDO2jebUCeCeTvkA53_MhOxi-ISSN7T0QPHoGrYc6P40UNPHA8tK1Ky7bd01DqBFvjlJuIlhYfZx7yzGmQjctHrkBMJbzoDp-gNG927D4/s320/IMG_2396.JPG" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-84498444387906257602018-07-12T09:46:00.000+00:002018-07-12T09:54:35.153+00:00Farewell and Hello<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWbwc3ucwu3gClIO6R87kEvdy4iHW0ApHdYFAmB33rPGI7G9uteEMOV2GPw869QZP1BpWpltHiVtjRQR11e8-GytLS4sKKzX58yeAFJrxcGsIVb5KlQ3DoW12VmLKRgqUyiGP5zdufk_4F/s1600/Farewell.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWbwc3ucwu3gClIO6R87kEvdy4iHW0ApHdYFAmB33rPGI7G9uteEMOV2GPw869QZP1BpWpltHiVtjRQR11e8-GytLS4sKKzX58yeAFJrxcGsIVb5KlQ3DoW12VmLKRgqUyiGP5zdufk_4F/s320/Farewell.jpg" width="320" height="274" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1369" /></a><br />
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We had enjoyed beautiful anchorages, and sailed the stunning, rugged, coasts of North and South Britanny. Sometimes we ghosted along in the merest of zephyrs, occasionally we sailed in a good breeze. We had anchored in secluded bays, in turquoise water, amongst tiny islets, and off wonderful beaches, in beautiful weather. At Audierne though, the clouds built-up and blotted out the stars. The night went dark, then the rain hit like a hail of bullets, the rigging sung to the wind, and we felt the anchor snatch repeatedly, lightning flashed, and thunder clapped, the thirty knot gusts swung the boat through 180⁰ and back again! Then, as quickly as it came, peace and quiet returned.<br />
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It had been a cracking week. Munch and Zoe, were always impatient to sail, and sail we did. Avocette’s sails were tweaked and cajoled to get every fraction of a knot out of the light winds as we headed back up the Channel du Four. In truth though, it was the engine that had to do most of it. Night fell as we passed L’Aber Wrac’h, and we counted off the many lighthouses on the Brittany Coast. Watches changed and the miles slipped by. Finally Guernsey hove into view. It was time for them to return home, their week at an end. Thanks guy’s, you’re welcome back anytime.<br />
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It’s always nice to hear from friends, and a txt ‘Do you need any crew?’ from Clive & Denise, saw us heading out early the next morning to catch the tide down to Jersey to meet them from the airport.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpEBWI8bl1GhQY-YwkEyjI40EZUt-GIXahNpP23XZhtNeOZ650fwEEMmLF3h3IezFsR2aBegkWDHnQeiJRmyL4GPy496aI7mtdiVNMHNkwHARnldUmYNw0xJY1fTOWnAUj4MBdc10JvL2A/s1600/Pirates.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpEBWI8bl1GhQY-YwkEyjI40EZUt-GIXahNpP23XZhtNeOZ650fwEEMmLF3h3IezFsR2aBegkWDHnQeiJRmyL4GPy496aI7mtdiVNMHNkwHARnldUmYNw0xJY1fTOWnAUj4MBdc10JvL2A/s320/Pirates.JPG" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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We woke to fog, and the clanking and grinding of cranes loading a coaster on the next dock, so slipped out of St Helier into the merk, and headed for the secluded bays, and car-free roads of Sark. There are four way’s of getting around Sark – walk, cycle, horse and cart, or tractor. Not able to hire bikes, or a horse and cart, in the secluded anchorage, we walked - then hitched a lift on a passing tractor!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4UCHHiZdQ2HJn6Ubn2Vor7ZyLMl1yQiuHq3gprmkmgcT1SyNF8TMglVowLshilZGrtOXB0JCE6aTf96-z3pbXyto-qGh-GZ1uWN7Qnqs7GXKsxjmlOtsRVEf1NVLcJmOebQPFVA-t0MsD/s1600/Tractor.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4UCHHiZdQ2HJn6Ubn2Vor7ZyLMl1yQiuHq3gprmkmgcT1SyNF8TMglVowLshilZGrtOXB0JCE6aTf96-z3pbXyto-qGh-GZ1uWN7Qnqs7GXKsxjmlOtsRVEf1NVLcJmOebQPFVA-t0MsD/s320/Tractor.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2_zdcpIl46HqvR2yMoq4VRHVUZYlPSbCVvl5TKslt4ncfRDiiOY_kiZj0AGzztldpb_keLK4hwKleiSOs-ygFf631ZdnuOFJbPQc0Z9LxT-QcXKRi1cPHpf2BR6uO8QGnCv5A7GXSUjrb/s1600/20180707_122627.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2_zdcpIl46HqvR2yMoq4VRHVUZYlPSbCVvl5TKslt4ncfRDiiOY_kiZj0AGzztldpb_keLK4hwKleiSOs-ygFf631ZdnuOFJbPQc0Z9LxT-QcXKRi1cPHpf2BR6uO8QGnCv5A7GXSUjrb/s320/20180707_122627.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAHwA6c1NCuqgvHza6rcCaCQ4c__rmdDYQRkqmZABEWvPWY9-ezgzQT_yomaUFEpW1enhM2r2sIAqmsz_-HXWx75M852oY2bNis1RoSdeH-XO9CgMrg9NrwbmmWPzFRC6eL4mv6p7Zfj9J/s1600/20180707_123304.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAHwA6c1NCuqgvHza6rcCaCQ4c__rmdDYQRkqmZABEWvPWY9-ezgzQT_yomaUFEpW1enhM2r2sIAqmsz_-HXWx75M852oY2bNis1RoSdeH-XO9CgMrg9NrwbmmWPzFRC6eL4mv6p7Zfj9J/s320/20180707_123304.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfOQ56jEVLzQT8cC1rw_eI4TUjLw7QadX7h1IFMflioG_KEdRxLO3S3hVnMKfWTddgSIV63Q-UiIgwQMJRw4Mw4oYP43ETGzMwas8GspK8jtkz-W5InsT2eWY8QJcL6wMlQdcY9rBNCt2Y/s1600/Harve+Gosselin.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfOQ56jEVLzQT8cC1rw_eI4TUjLw7QadX7h1IFMflioG_KEdRxLO3S3hVnMKfWTddgSIV63Q-UiIgwQMJRw4Mw4oYP43ETGzMwas8GspK8jtkz-W5InsT2eWY8QJcL6wMlQdcY9rBNCt2Y/s320/Harve+Gosselin.jpg" width="320" height="277" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1385" /></a><br />
Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-22037902635743090292018-06-30T18:29:00.000+00:002018-07-01T12:40:45.817+00:00Idyllic Islands in the SunAt last the fine weather settles in. Each day is, like England, wall to wall blue sky and sunshine. Sadly it is time for John to return home.<br />
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The new crew are flying up from Lisbon and we head into La Rochelle to pick them up. Munch and Zoe are a bundle of laughs, and good sailors too, so it’s a pleasure to have another two Portsmouth Sailing Club members on-board. It doesn’t take long for them to settle into ship board life, and we enjoy a cracking sail up to les Sable d’Olonne for them to see the Golden Globe entrants.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH3i_qIMB9xPtb2ZgoLr4YCxYAqgufr69YlyeYQ4Ef4xCX37I-WuFZvapb8KlwpXTxN9f-Jf4ZuBY5SeCz4lIyrOK1RLMwiCVBKVSnC6tIWze8YG6x1BnMbS0MElTC4lnnQBf8QFRkPfpm/s1600/La+Rochelle.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH3i_qIMB9xPtb2ZgoLr4YCxYAqgufr69YlyeYQ4Ef4xCX37I-WuFZvapb8KlwpXTxN9f-Jf4ZuBY5SeCz4lIyrOK1RLMwiCVBKVSnC6tIWze8YG6x1BnMbS0MElTC4lnnQBf8QFRkPfpm/s320/La+Rochelle.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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Slipping back to sea we reach across the fifty-odd miles to Belle-Ile. Dropping anchor between the rocks in a small inlet, on the south side of the island, was accompanied by a cheery wave, and a shout of ‘Welcome’ from the French boat, already snug at anchor in the prime spot. It’s beautiful, only by the cries of the gulls, nesting on the cliffs, disturb the peace as the sun sets on a perfect day.<br />
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The winds are light the next day, the sun hot, but with a little help from the trusty ‘iron top-sail’ we make Concarneau, just in time for a quick swim, and a welcome pint (or two). The marina’s full. It’s change-over day for the local sailing school, but we’re snug moored on the pontoon. Too snug, it turns out. The beam breeze pins us firmly onto the hammerhead, and it is only the help of the friendly Harbour master, towing us off to windward in the morning, that lets us escape to the beautiful Iles de Glenan. Like tiny Caribbean Islands, but without the palm trees.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvRuGda_bx9RvO40kQitSPqgiln4MDFjIn_a7WZNzEWoHfcKfxVe8RTZ5XOfFSxXxKAvxg4w8W8XRfCjyco2cdnZ-B2zLgp9E8AxENuCQAos6mwmY7SbV3BJgsk8hrXrN1yLNLmBM8iKVb/s1600/Ile+de+G+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvRuGda_bx9RvO40kQitSPqgiln4MDFjIn_a7WZNzEWoHfcKfxVe8RTZ5XOfFSxXxKAvxg4w8W8XRfCjyco2cdnZ-B2zLgp9E8AxENuCQAos6mwmY7SbV3BJgsk8hrXrN1yLNLmBM8iKVb/s320/Ile+de+G+4.JPG" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLnAIy2ljcaVFHBNOJotijh3hZM8OGV2Z9mhBkF7Bd85JEtNtkhV_PYXalgQ53QJomTRUpsvgwrg22XohBnU1gMBM5_mPBLjhdt0dzkME4BQLmlm5qEWLvpZvr9yfiDqVVErsthXj9K01/s1600/Ile+de+G+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaLnAIy2ljcaVFHBNOJotijh3hZM8OGV2Z9mhBkF7Bd85JEtNtkhV_PYXalgQ53QJomTRUpsvgwrg22XohBnU1gMBM5_mPBLjhdt0dzkME4BQLmlm5qEWLvpZvr9yfiDqVVErsthXj9K01/s320/Ile+de+G+5.JPG" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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Working our way in between the rocks we nudge in towards a beach on one of the many small islands, some not much more than a rock with a beach! Others have got there too. I three metres of water, we drop anchor on a patch of sand, and it’s not long before we’re swimming, Munch and Zoe striking out for the shore. <br />
All too soon it’s time to leave, Audierne, and 'The Raz' calls…<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqtuziIXhnbc0RNfnvSctDYJQR3jPHkXoDnzKb1FXzHGQdbkXS_5YHVDvYP_8KZg9Y0eMGMVCOxG3yCYbSGg3JkMRjX1DwDKqJ9vyNwXSoRuyJ68RYrZHYAs_EFpRqH6n-rfS1BEvVoaJc/s1600/Ile+de+G+8.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqtuziIXhnbc0RNfnvSctDYJQR3jPHkXoDnzKb1FXzHGQdbkXS_5YHVDvYP_8KZg9Y0eMGMVCOxG3yCYbSGg3JkMRjX1DwDKqJ9vyNwXSoRuyJ68RYrZHYAs_EFpRqH6n-rfS1BEvVoaJc/s320/Ile+de+G+8.JPG" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-60950685651860495472018-06-24T15:25:00.001+00:002018-06-24T15:31:53.500+00:00Ile de Re<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2SxdAKurNqEKrKVrEAfVZ7IPH14WPZsO_XQ-4Mv68bcOj78Ca1GnMc1lgcndwn0R9G0KMSolKfpayrTcQFIBud0SxvLD75WghuRr1NInY70ZjNdBUPX2hxYelKnC-Zf3a-qUPbL4F0LtD/s1600/Dutch+sail+trainer+off+Ile+de+Re.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2SxdAKurNqEKrKVrEAfVZ7IPH14WPZsO_XQ-4Mv68bcOj78Ca1GnMc1lgcndwn0R9G0KMSolKfpayrTcQFIBud0SxvLD75WghuRr1NInY70ZjNdBUPX2hxYelKnC-Zf3a-qUPbL4F0LtD/s320/Dutch+sail+trainer+off+Ile+de+Re.JPG" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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The sky was blue, the sun shining, and the sail, a fast beam reach in the 18, gusting 23kt breeze. Avocette was in her element . At 8 ½ kts, the miles wizzed by. It was the best sail of the trip! A Dutch sail training ship waved a cheerful hello as our paths crossed in the shallow channel of Pertius Breton to the north of Ile de Re.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg91dJuMVGXeypSVSVnLOvr0Mj4z2HXJyjyDVmz1vYVc6SMG_U3tVv1OXg7tu1aqy4me1CaqAQuziYxrALYagsg-87mNioKqO0cuc5mXbnbMqXnKWP0aVatlx03OtHClAGKHZkt5xDpZoWo/s1600/Rafted+in+the+Bassin+a+Flot.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg91dJuMVGXeypSVSVnLOvr0Mj4z2HXJyjyDVmz1vYVc6SMG_U3tVv1OXg7tu1aqy4me1CaqAQuziYxrALYagsg-87mNioKqO0cuc5mXbnbMqXnKWP0aVatlx03OtHClAGKHZkt5xDpZoWo/s320/Rafted+in+the+Bassin+a+Flot.jpg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a><br />
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The picturesque St Martin-Le-Re's harbour dries, but there is also the Bassin a Flot which was almost empty when we arrived and rafted alongside a friendly French couple. The lock gates were shut soon after, only to reopen the next day – the Harbour master only works daylight high tide +/- 3hrs. The next day being a Saturday, it was reminiscent of Cowes just before the Round the Island Race. Boats poured in the moment the lock-gates were opened. Chaos was expertly managed by the Harbour Master. The harbour filled. Rafts of five and six boats filled the Bassin. It made Yarmouth on a sunny bank holiday look peaceful!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmA1oZd2GspOMMW_n8773l2RBlM5FJM0AKcF4Klp2roTz5XERyht9h44xkWV6BCpiCHm78NPti_LwdMWzqDl_SMzpcCwP-RCgPCARFt-WcIhTlXQBqwEwU6CBxxuj8l4XMvNTiU_9JKLdR/s1600/Ile+de+Re+-+a+beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmA1oZd2GspOMMW_n8773l2RBlM5FJM0AKcF4Klp2roTz5XERyht9h44xkWV6BCpiCHm78NPti_LwdMWzqDl_SMzpcCwP-RCgPCARFt-WcIhTlXQBqwEwU6CBxxuj8l4XMvNTiU_9JKLdR/s320/Ile+de+Re+-+a+beach.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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Ile de Re is very flat. There are probably more bicycles than people, and the beaches are beautiful. Cafes, bars, and restaurants line the quay’s. The smell of Huitre’s (oysters) and all manner of shellfish wafts over the boat – perhaps a glass of Muscadet id called for……<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCl7DNfPVbr3OQc2V3ZY1hPtUXau5lI1tH6ak75vHR_n0hAj9iMx3dE1CU1RIZjCOd7tWkfb4DcHVsRQ8SiWFnjd2hpzTtDwZb7vkZt9dAyp2dnLihqHVog7F74xcErMpjMWZQdCSUobXp/s1600/La+Flotte.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCl7DNfPVbr3OQc2V3ZY1hPtUXau5lI1tH6ak75vHR_n0hAj9iMx3dE1CU1RIZjCOd7tWkfb4DcHVsRQ8SiWFnjd2hpzTtDwZb7vkZt9dAyp2dnLihqHVog7F74xcErMpjMWZQdCSUobXp/s320/La+Flotte.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-12365874535116293002018-06-21T17:55:00.000+00:002018-06-21T17:57:54.925+00:0021 Again!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrWIk6n6Mejwv0iiwyTg_EktNiBV0_B9dQlvnhfScvlc890ozGcaayzGAUtswvGeA2vIfMtvbYqqOenAWw6bNwWoS_H651GmqjcBqSTSINhc72YijCsvmaGplVbuVdEP-8mGgUSfJbSjC7/s1600/21+Again.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrWIk6n6Mejwv0iiwyTg_EktNiBV0_B9dQlvnhfScvlc890ozGcaayzGAUtswvGeA2vIfMtvbYqqOenAWw6bNwWoS_H651GmqjcBqSTSINhc72YijCsvmaGplVbuVdEP-8mGgUSfJbSjC7/s320/21+Again.jpg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a><br />
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Gail awakes to find flowers on the saloon table, and a basket of croissant, Danish pastries and pan-a-chocolat – well done John!<br />
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Lunch at a Michelin restaurant with our neighbours from Ocean Gem, the boat alongside, as it’s Eileen’s birthday too! To round off the day, as if that’s not enough, John cooks-up a spider crab with fresh oysters for supper! What a day!!<br />
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Finally we leave Les Sables, and have a cracking beam reach sail the thirty miles to Ile de Re, a beautiful island just outside La Rochelle.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_svewwbnknUvLxhO2weAlVqJIZbCcG2SmssC28OH0AcHpY3-F9A08HKT6Uj2b9fAyOQZgJkbbqqJvb8XZe8dIi109Ra2B5j19tIcQuS1iUDuwsGpOkaNDnkAaJJHOR2VQkh_7JfJPvjU/s1600/Ile+de+Re.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-_svewwbnknUvLxhO2weAlVqJIZbCcG2SmssC28OH0AcHpY3-F9A08HKT6Uj2b9fAyOQZgJkbbqqJvb8XZe8dIi109Ra2B5j19tIcQuS1iUDuwsGpOkaNDnkAaJJHOR2VQkh_7JfJPvjU/s320/Ile+de+Re.JPG" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-26485131107145329042018-06-21T17:48:00.001+00:002018-06-21T17:48:23.483+00:00The Golden Globe Celebrations StartWe sail the rhum-line for La Rochelle, but encouraged by a txt conversation with Robin Knox-Johnson, we change our minds, to join him as he sails into Les Sables D’Olonne for the festivities building up to the start of the Golden Globe Race; a race he originally won fifty years ago.<br />
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Frustratingly, the light winds delay our arrival, and after sailing 290 miles across Biscay we miss the parade by two hours, but then that’s sailing for you. That afternoon the festivities start. All the skippers are introduced, their boats are on show.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-WAifZFZx0l_kW2oHaReBl-4gBqK2THEbhDUbO3XvcJ99qjmvXDl1BE-tOcFKFPBA87I1BpRNP1rDmQgofNeD2u3DI7s4IayP7LYAen1UMbREsJqNHFQ51oaqEgsUCUvZZvwx_WBMCdk2/s1600/GGR+Start+Celebrations.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-WAifZFZx0l_kW2oHaReBl-4gBqK2THEbhDUbO3XvcJ99qjmvXDl1BE-tOcFKFPBA87I1BpRNP1rDmQgofNeD2u3DI7s4IayP7LYAen1UMbREsJqNHFQ51oaqEgsUCUvZZvwx_WBMCdk2/s320/GGR+Start+Celebrations.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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A pot-luck supper with the Cruising Association sees twenty of us enjoying an evening in the marina gardens.Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-45755774156262609732018-06-15T08:26:00.005+00:002018-06-15T08:27:09.537+00:00The Rain in Spain Falls Mainly on Us!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7S77Jh5H9uNC1GFqeOZIeqEhYZoFf87gonWePJt9ugzWKBkVFnze3NMdjgiXgugWuq20xHgBCUs7Yvv08Ua8FLxlwT4r-e3URPiWX0ouWG2-dJ5sli6j_bPcl6Jge4A9-4hKLgyWRxgR/s1600/Ribadeo+Entrance.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG7S77Jh5H9uNC1GFqeOZIeqEhYZoFf87gonWePJt9ugzWKBkVFnze3NMdjgiXgugWuq20xHgBCUs7Yvv08Ua8FLxlwT4r-e3URPiWX0ouWG2-dJ5sli6j_bPcl6Jge4A9-4hKLgyWRxgR/s320/Ribadeo+Entrance.JPG" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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Whilst John got lost in Luarca, Gail and I tramped the headland around the entrance to Ria de Ribadeo. <br />
Blue skies and warm shine made a wonderful change to the damp and windless days of the last fortnight. <br />
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The rugged coastline hides beautiful coves and bays, and all the colours of the ocean floor can be seen through the crystal clear water. On the clifftops, the wildflower meadows are filled with butterflies, swallows swoop low, and swifts wheel and screech overhead. We have enjoyed the northern Rias, but we want to move on. <br />
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The winds remain very light, Biscay beckons, and we slip our lines for La Rochelle – in the rain!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGw2j55LKZG5u7SAWQM8n4Y5yYlycpDa8yK1HRuDXtt-jftly4hRutIqqwaQaGuOy-5uPe7NypkudocxKw1a6xf_PglxHWSBpUF3Prx4ybYaV6-RTKVMabTdoO6vJXpuNL4kdA-RLOR5WC/s1600/Bay.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGw2j55LKZG5u7SAWQM8n4Y5yYlycpDa8yK1HRuDXtt-jftly4hRutIqqwaQaGuOy-5uPe7NypkudocxKw1a6xf_PglxHWSBpUF3Prx4ybYaV6-RTKVMabTdoO6vJXpuNL4kdA-RLOR5WC/s320/Bay.JPG" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a>Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-53579725982159601682018-06-11T07:59:00.000+00:002018-06-11T08:00:41.852+00:00After a 350 Mile Beat!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLjrDLsvotT2tt4dpLbsIMMiUJ0-QmF2dOos5lOLVgFXPF1ZCbsEF5mKpS_MR07_LatPVQbo0Biua_11f-NuvKnqdl97JS24gGMxoU93bdTRSI60rkpDz17XAeajcVZigbN3WUsMVxDrD3/s1600/A+Coruna.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLjrDLsvotT2tt4dpLbsIMMiUJ0-QmF2dOos5lOLVgFXPF1ZCbsEF5mKpS_MR07_LatPVQbo0Biua_11f-NuvKnqdl97JS24gGMxoU93bdTRSI60rkpDz17XAeajcVZigbN3WUsMVxDrD3/s320/A+Coruna.jpg" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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We ticked-off the lighthouses of the north coast of Spain as we worked our way to La Coruna with its big harbour and sheltered marinas tucked away in one of the northern Rias. Securely tied-up in the Marina Real, it was only a short walk into the centre of town. The grand Town Hall dominates the square, from which narrow side-streets, each with a different character, spread like a spiders web, around the harbour and into the town.<br />
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Our favourite was full of tapas bars. Dry-cured hams hung from the ceilings. Vivarium’s full of lobsters, crabc, and octopus filled the windows. The buzz of people enjoying a coffee, or cerveza, filled the air.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlH-hULVB8U95RGMp_Be-kQjWPWiFCjKSwCbP0GkhvtBGgk-jLZawWwAVsZrN0tw9vmvX0ZmtATkNnBIqByHRt73uDiHFl8XGrHzi5msQ5S0Gy_w_1AdDWiLCWmXrLpvrtqEB53Kozr04P/s1600/Tapas+Bars.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlH-hULVB8U95RGMp_Be-kQjWPWiFCjKSwCbP0GkhvtBGgk-jLZawWwAVsZrN0tw9vmvX0ZmtATkNnBIqByHRt73uDiHFl8XGrHzi5msQ5S0Gy_w_1AdDWiLCWmXrLpvrtqEB53Kozr04P/s320/Tapas+Bars.jpg" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a><br />
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It started raining 50 miles out from La Coruna. It rained every day. Not heavy, just constantly!!!<br />
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We scanned the forecasts. There was no wind to clear the clouds away. There was no wind to sail. Worse, no wind in the Atlantic either. There were three Ocean Cruising Club boats all waiting for the weather to change, for winds to blow us across to the Azores a thousand miles away. We waited.<br />
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Time was running out. <br />
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We needed to get to Horta by the 18th June for the start of the Centenary Celebrations of Peter’s Café Sport, and the 70th Anniversary of the OCC. Each day we studied the synoptics and grib files. There was some wind forecast, but it was light, and full of holes, and I didn’t carry sufficient fuel to motor the distances across the windless holes. To make the Azores before the parties ended was looking more, and more, unlikely. Reluctantly, we too pulled out, only Esprit sailed – we wished them fair winds, and headed north-east.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiRp_Jk6Y_ymfhGn-H3DWhfYCqyXil6hWcQM7bhOGMyVkJei2W-KtpBh8a3wwxc-RAIEeybBIdgJAfNKZe8D5CwtS25FYEOk86-Ki3eNocQqkSy80Flf5zcle5avl5WpH9satj74gxt-WV/s1600/Marina+Ria+De+Ares.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiRp_Jk6Y_ymfhGn-H3DWhfYCqyXil6hWcQM7bhOGMyVkJei2W-KtpBh8a3wwxc-RAIEeybBIdgJAfNKZe8D5CwtS25FYEOk86-Ki3eNocQqkSy80Flf5zcle5avl5WpH9satj74gxt-WV/s320/Marina+Ria+De+Ares.JPG" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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We left the rain in La Coruna, the Ria Ares, just ten miles away was bathed in sunshine - for a short while! It’s regatta in full swing, the competition fierce and friendly.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxnEPmHcTvC2B8io9BDiudCahCpvGmjaNxNGvv9dpAquXUHi8BGkyPewvmFfYbw81xCh7IwsyGzLap_PHeXyUYe1QHCQC2-2AJaaAqMy2HgzHWxIZmQ1aBnum-Ak34Tv_sdPYshXZ7opUF/s1600/Waterfalls.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxnEPmHcTvC2B8io9BDiudCahCpvGmjaNxNGvv9dpAquXUHi8BGkyPewvmFfYbw81xCh7IwsyGzLap_PHeXyUYe1QHCQC2-2AJaaAqMy2HgzHWxIZmQ1aBnum-Ak34Tv_sdPYshXZ7opUF/s320/Waterfalls.JPG" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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There has been so much rain that waterfalls cascaded down the massive coastal cliffs into the sea. The great headlands of Cabo Prior, Cabo Ortegal, and Cabo Estaca de Bares, slipped by, as we motored (again) in the light headwinds.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWGZMXNWBcNOop6LNO2Q5u8q7PUacr1JTkwM4GT7EG4NDBNXT4pRrpy2VtTdPaImUXyarxvQY3ECjPDNNzl7wad4GpH83Mg4P-Cb5vxVuV4FWPOWyo5hrzET9Jcpsjr8GR4s6_PpXAtzta/s1600/Rugged+N.+Spain+Coast.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWGZMXNWBcNOop6LNO2Q5u8q7PUacr1JTkwM4GT7EG4NDBNXT4pRrpy2VtTdPaImUXyarxvQY3ECjPDNNzl7wad4GpH83Mg4P-Cb5vxVuV4FWPOWyo5hrzET9Jcpsjr8GR4s6_PpXAtzta/s320/Rugged+N.+Spain+Coast.JPG" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-5905602648811584212018-06-07T15:07:00.000+00:002018-06-07T15:08:21.963+00:00A 350 mile beat!A last minute run ashore so Gail could buy herself some wellies – it’s raining, and we slipped the pontoon, and out of the river. Sails up, a broad reach sent us romping, away from the leaden skies, towards Camaret, and France.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4XrC0eAPnT5_JxkUrPyN_eB0s0_BJThPLJ0P38gfXNZigDEhELA-PSlSoss-XXst9zE6ih7SFtd3cGjkWareBeQr1zVU4cGzHytMTeIcMGD8Joo4X3BHCbGkjOX_k4i_D296B7kUir9cJ/s1600/Dartmouth.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4XrC0eAPnT5_JxkUrPyN_eB0s0_BJThPLJ0P38gfXNZigDEhELA-PSlSoss-XXst9zE6ih7SFtd3cGjkWareBeQr1zVU4cGzHytMTeIcMGD8Joo4X3BHCbGkjOX_k4i_D296B7kUir9cJ/s320/Dartmouth.JPG" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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A cracking sail. Darkness fell, and the miles slipped by. Plenty of shipping kept the watch alert. Finally the lights of Brittany’s rocky shore loomed into view, and the first light of dawn, the wind dropped, engine on, and the fog descended as the tide lifted us, and sped us, into the Channel du Four. Thankfully it lifted to a heavy mist, as we slipped past the mighty navigation marks to the Rade de Brest, and into Camaret.<br />
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Camaret is a delight – when the sun shines – it didn’t! Worse, we needed as much diesel as we could carry for the Biscay crossing, and there was none, we had to sail to Brest for that, but left the next day for Spain.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZNNS7WaARlNwXNK88QWtyG-i7dbs7isD65AQYjsXsGrAlUk3UI6VjlftC108kbv105pWcSJ_Ww4gNDhXaF7ZPm2fZNghzTHLn7eEFwl27jpHrZQgxvyGn2XJLID9ZZxuNyAa7hMXjc0LA/s1600/La+Vielle+Phare.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZNNS7WaARlNwXNK88QWtyG-i7dbs7isD65AQYjsXsGrAlUk3UI6VjlftC108kbv105pWcSJ_Ww4gNDhXaF7ZPm2fZNghzTHLn7eEFwl27jpHrZQgxvyGn2XJLID9ZZxuNyAa7hMXjc0LA/s320/La+Vielle+Phare.JPG" width="320" height="240" data-original-width="1600" data-original-height="1200" /></a><br />
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The Raz de Sien was quiet, and we motor-sailed through, the mighty La Vielle Phare {Lighthouse) close to port, and Ar Men Phare way off to the West, and on, searching for wind. Predictwind had suggested the best route was to head SWfor 75 miles, then SE, until we picked-up favourable westerlies. We headed SW into headwinds. We headed SE, into headwinds. Every way we turned, light headwinds kicked-up a sloppy chop on-top of the gentle rolling Atlantic swell. It was tough going, and we had no option but to motor-sail.<br />
A 350 mile beat is a long arduous battle! Watches rolled by, day’s rolled into night’s. Finally, on the fourth day we sighted the cliffs of Galicia, and slipped into A Coruna, in the rain and fog – with no wind!<br />
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Four days later there is still plenty of rain, poor visibility, fog, but no wind to speak of.<br />
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To get us off the boat we spent yesterday in Santigo di Compostela. The Spanish trains are clean and punctual. Your ticket buys a numbered seat. The half-hour run was comfortable, and for the most part, the rain spared us. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmaLPrup-zorQxOybnGCb4uIPyWTCh3PUBabd5VJB-25Y7g5kEMEWZssNrHtznrTER5yxyw9mDDjK-5cOBUpkJnbOPbHm_baBYCdWGxx6QUKN1VoPyf3J2H7PyJ7Uor8iZJBByzci-DK1t/s1600/Catedral.JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmaLPrup-zorQxOybnGCb4uIPyWTCh3PUBabd5VJB-25Y7g5kEMEWZssNrHtznrTER5yxyw9mDDjK-5cOBUpkJnbOPbHm_baBYCdWGxx6QUKN1VoPyf3J2H7PyJ7Uor8iZJBByzci-DK1t/s320/Catedral.JPG" width="240" height="320" data-original-width="1200" data-original-height="1600" /></a> <br />
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The old town surrounding the Cathedral is a twisted maze of narrow streets of great granite buildings echoing a distant past. The ‘Catedral’ was big, quite grand, and full of backpackers. On their rucksacks, they each proudly displayed the scallop shell - the sign that they had just walked the Comino Way, a pilgrimage of almost 100 miles. <br />
Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-88991097460630535762018-06-07T10:28:00.001+00:002018-06-07T15:11:57.012+00:00Avocette Sails WestWe slipped out of the Camber, and headed West. The sun was shining; it’s warmth a hope of things to come. Sitting on the tide we slipped past Cowes joining the last start of the RORC Myth of Mallam Race to the Eddistone Light, and stayed with the tail-enders through the Needles, across Poole Bay and along the Jurassic Coast – so beautiful – until we bore away to anchor in Portland Harbour for the night.<br />
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Anchor down, supper on the stove, the clouds rolled in. All night the lightning flashed, the showers rolled through. Finally the day dawned, dry, with the clouds departing, and the sun came out. We rounded The Bill, almost able to touch the rocks, and out across Lyme bay.<br />
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The sail to Dartmouth was a delight – well almost. A few miles from Berry Head, the fog rolled in. Radar on, AIS in support, it was not until an hundred metres from the entrance did we see the cliffs. Shag Rock, the Mewstone – we never saw them!!!<br />
Paddle steamers and steam trains, their whistles echoing up and down the river, memories of a forgotten past. Pastel-coloured houses climbing the hill. Good beer, good, food, and very friendly natives, make Dartmouth very special, but leave we must. <br />
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To France, to Spain, and to the Azores. Adventure awaits.<br />
Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-71169793160662158562018-04-26T15:53:00.002+00:002018-04-26T15:53:52.497+00:00A New Plan: OCC/Peter's Cafe Sport Anniversary<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj85ICzbJs3XLVoCXzvIIKOawfuUcKITZDnO08VklF4cQe0I_9SfW94kUf0TZcZ7dPuANqvbMjF6XRjLS2keKvz_3UIM9GDlwwfs8deKUfHaUdTxhzgbC8Y_85Xk9qVwO5erykKIZfUW86v/s1600/Chris.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj85ICzbJs3XLVoCXzvIIKOawfuUcKITZDnO08VklF4cQe0I_9SfW94kUf0TZcZ7dPuANqvbMjF6XRjLS2keKvz_3UIM9GDlwwfs8deKUfHaUdTxhzgbC8Y_85Xk9qVwO5erykKIZfUW86v/s320/Chris.jpg" width="298" height="320" data-original-width="280" data-original-height="301" /></a></div><br />
After a full refit back home in Portsmouth, Avocette is again ready to sail. Next weeekend will be the shake-down cruise with Portsmouth sailing Club to Cherbourg and back, then it's off to the Azores, probably via Camaret and La Coruna, weather gods permitting.Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-53561990896826392562016-05-24T00:38:00.000+00:002016-05-24T00:38:16.633+00:004 Countries, 1 TV Programme.Four countries visited so far - Austria then Italy to ski. Antigua to race Classic Week. France to deliver my best friend's boat (and him) to Morlaix via Yarmouth, IoW, and Dartmouth.<br />
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Earlier this year the BBC asked me to help out... <br />
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b07cvg9p/storm-troupers-the-fight-to-forecast-the-weather-episode-1<br />
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Photos to follow.....Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-54180035217950759012015-04-06T07:57:00.004+00:002015-04-06T07:57:47.034+00:00Three Men in a BoatA last “sherbet” in the Lounge, a farewell kiss from Michelle the landlady, and it was back to the boat for a dawn departure. Dawn in Gibraltar is always at 0830! We were ready and waiting. The marina staff removed the boom that each night, closed the marina entrance, and we slipped out.<br />
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Blue sky, a gentle 6kts on the nose gradually building, we crossed the bay – a beautiful start. By Tarifa we were banging into 22kts, a lumpy sea, and 4kts of foul tide! Progress was painfully slow. 18 miles and 4½ hrs later we finally rounded Tarifa Light.<br />
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The sun was shining, Cape Trafalgar slipped passed, and we made for the Algarve coast of Portugal, slipping in to Lagos with time for a brief run ashore.<br />
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Watching the weather plays a key part in the leg north ‘up’ the west side of Europe. Both the prevailing wind, and the prevailing currents are against you, and gales are frequent, but it was looking good for a dawn departure. 0630 saw us slipping quietly out of the harbour, turning west, and motoring for Ponta de Sagres, and Cabo Sao Vincente.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimDqV8Vumk5Wy-cbNWcGfV722CIP-TvZPZzm1WctisIBPb5BcS_Kh1Q93h5BELBFX5ub4-vMLz4PvCH3PXk_1kEO2LHpyP3_gxO93GVIfwrDbkFf30bdLyjSjmgUbYwstDRXYblKqefBRA/s1600/Chris+&+Clive.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimDqV8Vumk5Wy-cbNWcGfV722CIP-TvZPZzm1WctisIBPb5BcS_Kh1Q93h5BELBFX5ub4-vMLz4PvCH3PXk_1kEO2LHpyP3_gxO93GVIfwrDbkFf30bdLyjSjmgUbYwstDRXYblKqefBRA/s400/Chris+&+Clive.jpg" /></a><br />
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Rounding Cape St Vincent the weather always changes. We left the balmy comfort of the Mediterranean -style climate of the Algarve, an swopped it for that of the North Atlantic Ocean. Within twenty minutes the flat blue sea became a boiling turmoil of grey sea, the spray flying. Double reefed mainsail and staysail replaced full main and genoa. Foul weather gear replaced t-shirt and shorts. 30+kts blasted out of the east. On course, sailing at 8kts, we revelled in the conditions.<br />
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Progress was good. We gel as a team. Competition in the galley hots up.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57w5xPR_Rkfq-vttLj4OQfBsszxG8bVBv5RPIkPGlD2NZgfxRdkIvazYPx8nrYANhb1dQuER8ZZi3Ju0z2S3j2m37gZoYiePqWrCllMBuOuZSBDWEt4Nm_u4BC4lpN63VtO8cYWptukXt/s1600/Clive+Spud+Bashing.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg57w5xPR_Rkfq-vttLj4OQfBsszxG8bVBv5RPIkPGlD2NZgfxRdkIvazYPx8nrYANhb1dQuER8ZZi3Ju0z2S3j2m37gZoYiePqWrCllMBuOuZSBDWEt4Nm_u4BC4lpN63VtO8cYWptukXt/s400/Clive+Spud+Bashing.jpg" /></a><br />
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As the High pressure system built the wind remained light. We pressed on hoping to make Lisbon, or perhaps even Nazare. Still the weather held. Finally we hove-to, drop sails, and slipped into Povoa de Varzim, a fishing port with white sand beaches stretching north and south as far as the eye can see.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjbl-vNS2uMoBk1pP4_eya_NY1CmjlODxTivrxxJ-hkTJekxrcDwBkjyXNQwnBDNot2B5A1HHOj8NqjkXasikox_kX8Qv1BT7SytEGelWYjNk3e10a1DJM6sTxGB46JxYAq1biIOe3wynG/s1600/Povoa+de+Varzim+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjbl-vNS2uMoBk1pP4_eya_NY1CmjlODxTivrxxJ-hkTJekxrcDwBkjyXNQwnBDNot2B5A1HHOj8NqjkXasikox_kX8Qv1BT7SytEGelWYjNk3e10a1DJM6sTxGB46JxYAq1biIOe3wynG/s400/Povoa+de+Varzim+1.jpg" /></a><br />
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Concrete apartment blocks surround the old town and stretch, like the sand, in both directions. In the harbour, a warm and friendly welcome, cheap berthing, and good facilities with high-tec security meant finger-print recognition at the marina, onto the pontoons, and even into the heads!! As for the welcome that awaits others, I wasn’t so sure! On the beach, in a square, surrounded by bars, cafes, and a pizza hut stood a ghoulish stage…...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXxSecc_7JvkMYdyK8v0LnpvaJO70poX0d4uz-QmzDFplNzJoMohsh467Yddlqq3-90ilEWm6k5M2LJuhIXV6bQN7uNyB8_CKMPcj66k2n4C1UQKddb3U92Y22_17TI-HfWgeDOJQdRv5l/s1600/Gallows+Povoa+de+Varzim.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXxSecc_7JvkMYdyK8v0LnpvaJO70poX0d4uz-QmzDFplNzJoMohsh467Yddlqq3-90ilEWm6k5M2LJuhIXV6bQN7uNyB8_CKMPcj66k2n4C1UQKddb3U92Y22_17TI-HfWgeDOJQdRv5l/s400/Gallows+Povoa+de+Varzim.jpg" /></a><br />
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The sun is shining, the breeze a little cooler. We pass Portugals only offshore ‘windfarm’, it’s single turbine turning slowly in the wind.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVgWRNsTeD4YVdRo_NU2ClMuwBIOFtth0VS6DLhobtZWOkK9okbDreOothW4-tXboLLPkKSlYaiR3t2IoTY1b1WKJKmusC79quPz8ETrWfsb8_VdfurFIOCl7q5dG8A9DzLuhZb09KZlYL/s1600/Portugals+Windfarm.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVgWRNsTeD4YVdRo_NU2ClMuwBIOFtth0VS6DLhobtZWOkK9okbDreOothW4-tXboLLPkKSlYaiR3t2IoTY1b1WKJKmusC79quPz8ETrWfsb8_VdfurFIOCl7q5dG8A9DzLuhZb09KZlYL/s400/Portugals+Windfarm.jpg" /></a><br />
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As the Rio Minho slips past abeam, down comes the red & green ensign of Portugal. Up goes the red and yellow of spain. Baiona, Finnistere, and Biscay are only days away.<br />
Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-24356202896136615072015-03-23T13:52:00.003+00:002015-03-23T13:54:17.284+00:00Cruising along the Costa Del Sol<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBqw7Dkc4YTLxhX78h0_2CM4URgSqOtDO8XEKdhCkwjmxO-knEtXdOgSFk14WUJ11fPBEZoxAE3WJi-iFe4oDYkxfS_kAJLlP3_7QNvQf8KHrepvVQ8zyuKC7dQEPhUIl3tqM_ObjZBzU/s1600/Snow+Seirra+Nevada.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBqw7Dkc4YTLxhX78h0_2CM4URgSqOtDO8XEKdhCkwjmxO-knEtXdOgSFk14WUJ11fPBEZoxAE3WJi-iFe4oDYkxfS_kAJLlP3_7QNvQf8KHrepvVQ8zyuKC7dQEPhUIl3tqM_ObjZBzU/s400/Snow+Seirra+Nevada.png" /></a><br />
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Above us, the snow-capped Sierra Nevada Mountains glistened in the first light of dawn. Alongside, our only companions, the dolphins raced, jumped, and played in the glassy sea.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Ng5xgXhfJwVmClTNE-sKj4bOFvlQ0tFHTtiwO2AYpUQpfc1mC-bk53fvnTidg59DyvlTtPfWkyI21aUHaDv_kcyAHxmxwBo1KDAH4R6vL46JEvJp_vBXMPxMyTc5kYPK1_a-w0Denoqg/s1600/20150311_073203.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Ng5xgXhfJwVmClTNE-sKj4bOFvlQ0tFHTtiwO2AYpUQpfc1mC-bk53fvnTidg59DyvlTtPfWkyI21aUHaDv_kcyAHxmxwBo1KDAH4R6vL46JEvJp_vBXMPxMyTc5kYPK1_a-w0Denoqg/s400/20150311_073203.jpg" /></a><br />
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The run along the Costa Del Sol from Gibraltar to Almerimar, past Marbella, Torremolinos and Malaga, was like crossing a millpond. The Mediterranean was living up to its reputation for wind – all, or nothing. Arriving in Almerimar was like arriving at a sailing club rally. Portsmouth boats, all old friends, lined the quay - Dragonsong, Mayra, Leslie Frank, and ………………. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCB60rnqaZhHQ20Oo17irjnXbjZ5wsqwm4gF96oey2apwEpa2GMYvFmH7gfvOLK-RGcdiGBAKBsoSGKVtjxrWznO-URH92KxG3vD5f4HiIjc-LCoL8CgmQ8QcAhCMWsoOaj9qCLKaB0lB_/s1600/20150315_174856.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCB60rnqaZhHQ20Oo17irjnXbjZ5wsqwm4gF96oey2apwEpa2GMYvFmH7gfvOLK-RGcdiGBAKBsoSGKVtjxrWznO-URH92KxG3vD5f4HiIjc-LCoL8CgmQ8QcAhCMWsoOaj9qCLKaB0lB_/s400/20150315_174856.jpg" /></a><br />
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Avocette’s lift-out was accompanied by much shouting, and animated discussion by the many Marinieros, but the care and attention was excellent, and soon Avocette was settled on the hard. They pressure-washed, scrubbed, and polished, and all for a fraction of the cost in the UK. Antifouled, and another coat of polish (by me this time) and four days later were back in the water. There’s a lot to be said for hot sunny days! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUU3ed7mhBGKSmssmuLeTyuqJ9l3VgdIZVDoJy7zXJpftL1mKOf2wNHCJw6gxzQQ7cxGoACmbOI0SPgcGlv6363uPh0Uj9xGb4ZyVvq-Wt_tw84YVltwJMY2ESTn8zMU-Hs_2qFE2lm2sG/s1600/20150321_105002.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUU3ed7mhBGKSmssmuLeTyuqJ9l3VgdIZVDoJy7zXJpftL1mKOf2wNHCJw6gxzQQ7cxGoACmbOI0SPgcGlv6363uPh0Uj9xGb4ZyVvq-Wt_tw84YVltwJMY2ESTn8zMU-Hs_2qFE2lm2sG/s400/20150321_105002.jpg" /></a><br />
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Almerimar doesn’t have an “Old Town”. The marina is big and surrounded by bars and shops, but many of its modern buildings lay empty, victims of the financial crash. <br />
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Surrounding the town, and stretching as far as the eye can see, the land is covered in plastic sheet. The Dutch saw the potential. They taught the Spanish how to use hydroponics - plastic tunnels, all climate controlled, and that now grow much of Spain’s vegetables - the same vegetables we see on our supermarket shelves at home.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiS07mqyV9qM3-LNa-5xyzzl495D0hGSbSImKpnMhMyX8h7BeTjMQRXGPg1ONL3p1qT6zZ1jOOuDDcq2XX3j5IZtskXXcIodbLlkvq7NmLFi3yMKnnIEgm-jKPodp7U43dpzPze1n3nxIT/s1600/20150311_155751.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiS07mqyV9qM3-LNa-5xyzzl495D0hGSbSImKpnMhMyX8h7BeTjMQRXGPg1ONL3p1qT6zZ1jOOuDDcq2XX3j5IZtskXXcIodbLlkvq7NmLFi3yMKnnIEgm-jKPodp7U43dpzPze1n3nxIT/s400/20150311_155751.jpg" /></a><br />
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Seventy-five miles south of the Costa Del Sol is the north coast of Africa, and the authorities are constantly on the alert. Drug smuggling is quite rightly, taken very seriously. The Guardia Civil intercepted this Grandbanks Trawler Yacht. When it tried to out-run the patrol boat a hail of 12mm cannon brought his clandestine run to a dramatic halt. This smugglers drug run had cost him his life!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwbO93OQvcD-jjW9EBDSoRuciwhjJemVduNASkJTsW5Y8Vtk6efz6LBbXX03akA6gSUkBFJ3uD8tg75lp03R9snIrtPX_JWPm3PnniJ5la94puPwHs4HFiTdwGUtgxi30BxxNPcxSKNNAz/s1600/20150321_112333.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwbO93OQvcD-jjW9EBDSoRuciwhjJemVduNASkJTsW5Y8Vtk6efz6LBbXX03akA6gSUkBFJ3uD8tg75lp03R9snIrtPX_JWPm3PnniJ5la94puPwHs4HFiTdwGUtgxi30BxxNPcxSKNNAz/s400/20150321_112333.jpg" /></a><br />
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One of the great joys of cruising is exploring the countryside, unearthing the real country, meeting local people, and enjoying their customs, food and culture. Using the excuse to return Jim to Almerimar I hired a car and we drove up into the mountains, along the coast, and into the old towns. Spanish roads are a joy. Wide empty motorways speed you through the dramatic scenery, winding narrow lanes creep up the hills into old towns, or to cliff-tops and craggy rocks and quiet harbours. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiafXj5o0SFZ7HsB3u8146luz5fxcAIAVllMb041dirZouWP2CXmzGPAa_-AL97eGSiMV_L6IM-sE7xTXaajx-ETwEu8oNQH1IpuYd5R0b2lRa0NQKYgzY5pW0hqUfvIZCva-eAfWec9I2_/s1600/20150321_163015.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiafXj5o0SFZ7HsB3u8146luz5fxcAIAVllMb041dirZouWP2CXmzGPAa_-AL97eGSiMV_L6IM-sE7xTXaajx-ETwEu8oNQH1IpuYd5R0b2lRa0NQKYgzY5pW0hqUfvIZCva-eAfWec9I2_/s400/20150321_163015.jpg" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1QWJMEjC25fpYlpKqK15wbPbbWDcmnzAPaUm9q2xrV8UsE50_ylj29y-XmufNjRupxlZtbhtSgnsiglF31-axeGW54KAGSMAbYE8uSWffsqM62rqFSyCUAMUaQhfpk-vyy3IKK1sGNn0V/s1600/20150321_112951.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1QWJMEjC25fpYlpKqK15wbPbbWDcmnzAPaUm9q2xrV8UsE50_ylj29y-XmufNjRupxlZtbhtSgnsiglF31-axeGW54KAGSMAbYE8uSWffsqM62rqFSyCUAMUaQhfpk-vyy3IKK1sGNn0V/s400/20150321_112951.jpg" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSbukiMne6aJlvIqsWAnxrtrOz99nzsQf_Tf6OHe8onVfUhkVgbpZOKhXgLCDbNd9qjgSCnQt2NEi5evS3mVvEGgkB7EIpTquAL0K3l4LUECOyaAU2GUeueu5G22fGWCtKubVeVBKNK8C7/s1600/Gib+&+La+Linea.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSbukiMne6aJlvIqsWAnxrtrOz99nzsQf_Tf6OHe8onVfUhkVgbpZOKhXgLCDbNd9qjgSCnQt2NEi5evS3mVvEGgkB7EIpTquAL0K3l4LUECOyaAU2GUeueu5G22fGWCtKubVeVBKNK8C7/s400/Gib+&+La+Linea.jpg" /></a>Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-66356069829172399372015-03-08T18:08:00.003+00:002015-03-08T18:08:57.224+00:00Ticking Off the Day's<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYP8y7G52uxDC0juJiAJqJ170k7AY1Fwskqzr-H1DthlzgJtiA3jO4JrljkBGa641NalmBvGlaXlLeCtOVcjpT8lYzYx4pZvhUy_eDW_sNyCKo7LZe1g5Kp089smW8NW6BBjk24y5aKZ1z/s1600/Gib+Guard.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYP8y7G52uxDC0juJiAJqJ170k7AY1Fwskqzr-H1DthlzgJtiA3jO4JrljkBGa641NalmBvGlaXlLeCtOVcjpT8lYzYx4pZvhUy_eDW_sNyCKo7LZe1g5Kp089smW8NW6BBjk24y5aKZ1z/s400/Gib+Guard.png" /></a><br />
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Ticking off the day’s to my flight back to Gibraltar, I watched the wind. For ten days it had been a gentle westerly, perfect for sailing into the Med, and along the beautiful Costa Del Sol, to Almerimar. Back on the boat, it’s 22’C sitting in the sun. Just a pair of shorts and a cold beer, the tan is returning – but the wind had seen me coming. <br />
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When the Levanter blows it comes from the east, it’s unforgiving, 30kts, 40kts, then 50kts, day after day. It’s still shorts weather, but I’m stuck here again! Never mind there’s a boat to polish, and shopping to be done. <br />
Better top-up whist I’m here……<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMQJf9Bf56Q42TZt-7M1Czx_IAlgmrJAqKty4GbobttKNEDaupYjtakphCC0SfvzZ2mASSn4Hvk5oAVycQQCqa6JrsUCcb8R4085pdhWWCcfiBKuYQKj1IJYX7njrpiIW08aZOqaGoxGmU/s1600/Untitled5.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMQJf9Bf56Q42TZt-7M1Czx_IAlgmrJAqKty4GbobttKNEDaupYjtakphCC0SfvzZ2mASSn4Hvk5oAVycQQCqa6JrsUCcb8R4085pdhWWCcfiBKuYQKj1IJYX7njrpiIW08aZOqaGoxGmU/s400/Untitled5.png" /></a><br />
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That’s per litre, and some places are even cheaper!!<br />
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PIRACY? Industrial espionage? Or has the Victory Class gone into property development?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjjlXfZrqiTScaI-pATdcM-PCJfaoE491O863BnautvCBB7AHhpzG3Oln2C2FELNqyu4wggMOs-HZTV5oWiEAIxXiM98Nc6F4iDgtZOVRxskyq7j9lN13kfgw2vN_1-hP6RzETf8QMoEe9/s1600/Piracy.png" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjjlXfZrqiTScaI-pATdcM-PCJfaoE491O863BnautvCBB7AHhpzG3Oln2C2FELNqyu4wggMOs-HZTV5oWiEAIxXiM98Nc6F4iDgtZOVRxskyq7j9lN13kfgw2vN_1-hP6RzETf8QMoEe9/s400/Piracy.png" /></a><br />
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Finally the wind drops. It’s time to go.<br />
Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-42786963053402989542014-12-28T14:25:00.001+00:002014-12-28T14:26:40.834+00:00Untenable Anchorage - Warm WelcomeQuite predictably the weather in England is cooler than Gibraltar. <br />
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It is also ‘That time of Year’ when almost everyone seems hell-bent on emptying the shops and supermarkets of their entire contents.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitL9Kz_A8blQQaykkoeROHu-InuwFdwlHfYzBdCIWc1I2WhIqzwIjmfxtpKw1uhyphenhyphenlts3pETo938WIe_gHN7o4WuYHsf13fi1Mj3wXoxOBCyMw-Z6p0ADZx8BxvD_pMYu9Wz1QEZ_wEXB2n/s1600/Card.gif" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitL9Kz_A8blQQaykkoeROHu-InuwFdwlHfYzBdCIWc1I2WhIqzwIjmfxtpKw1uhyphenhyphenlts3pETo938WIe_gHN7o4WuYHsf13fi1Mj3wXoxOBCyMw-Z6p0ADZx8BxvD_pMYu9Wz1QEZ_wEXB2n/s400/Card.gif" /></a><br />
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I had two options –join the frenzy, or retreat to a quiet sanctuary. <br />
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Gatwick was empty, the flight to Shannon on time. A quick one in “Durty Nelly’s” in the shadow of Bunraty Castle, and it was off to Ennis for the craic in Brogans, a great little bar. The guinness was good, and so was the session – I even had a little play myself.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEtTKxutFCcKccUmJW2s99Lp4Uc-Wpo_V69uk3980AjAJ5cEkyQc4WHPWgM0LNVjGzJFJ1o18cNBfUgjUgYKuDUt4N-JXZ88ZpKCCAla7SMx5u6J7tc1mAvUPPIQWTqbbZ0i6ChMki5QJa/s1600/Killkee,+Co.+Clare+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEtTKxutFCcKccUmJW2s99Lp4Uc-Wpo_V69uk3980AjAJ5cEkyQc4WHPWgM0LNVjGzJFJ1o18cNBfUgjUgYKuDUt4N-JXZ88ZpKCCAla7SMx5u6J7tc1mAvUPPIQWTqbbZ0i6ChMki5QJa/s320/Killkee,+Co.+Clare+(1).jpg" /></a><br />
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Eire is a beautiful country. Its rugged west coast conceals snug anchorages, open bays, and wild wave swept rocks under towering cliffs. This coast is serious sailing. When the wind blows the Atlantic Ocean vents all its pent-up energy on the Emerald Isle. It can be fearsome, anchorages untenable, yet always it remains quite beautiful.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Jib9S_cYgo3mi0aH7Nk_zkjWJhvd4FhsnghiPT1opgS5c9aUzG342g7RsoeClnmUc4eUGf96Mi6MdasJalIZnuU0BYkrB3yG5mynDO09bs7acXhmaKAjDvPTX1jursN3ikad8hmzEs8a/s1600/Killkee,+Co.+Clare+(8).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Jib9S_cYgo3mi0aH7Nk_zkjWJhvd4FhsnghiPT1opgS5c9aUzG342g7RsoeClnmUc4eUGf96Mi6MdasJalIZnuU0BYkrB3yG5mynDO09bs7acXhmaKAjDvPTX1jursN3ikad8hmzEs8a/s320/Killkee,+Co.+Clare+(8).jpg" /></a><br />
Killkee Bay<br />
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Winding around the mountains and hills, on its way down to the sea, the River Shannon drains the lakes and peat bogs, in heart of the country, with the sound of the fiddle wafting down from a session.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrpIW_KheSv79YoGm2nRMFbANcrEmudNrhC-Vs8sCkoQb7qdFysBH8G3jYXL1dDj6pzZRMBTCmbZ3b3cPZSXcacDs7Q7JDxJdlv9VBkzYyLGcmAQIIkX0G7lL3nfTPjZfbpqi8y-F1mAUZ/s1600/Larkins,+Gary+Kenedy,+Nr.+Portroe+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrpIW_KheSv79YoGm2nRMFbANcrEmudNrhC-Vs8sCkoQb7qdFysBH8G3jYXL1dDj6pzZRMBTCmbZ3b3cPZSXcacDs7Q7JDxJdlv9VBkzYyLGcmAQIIkX0G7lL3nfTPjZfbpqi8y-F1mAUZ/s400/Larkins,+Gary+Kenedy,+Nr.+Portroe+(2).jpg" /></a><br />
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It snowed on the way back from the session in Larkin’s Bar -- another great night. In the morning ice covered the car, and snow capped the hills.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7VZG1aAtI2uI_KsNLPWItjiGposD_KXh03KYLxaC1ja_1x6dOHkhDgFHiLYvDkn_lWa8ESwgu0omQtyTKu5tAzWlEeIShpqJ7_Cta-OJ6ijs55gfNMGBDyPB1sRe9GY_P43VMXf1CJ_ie/s1600/Larkins,+Gary+Kenedy,+Nr.+Portroe+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7VZG1aAtI2uI_KsNLPWItjiGposD_KXh03KYLxaC1ja_1x6dOHkhDgFHiLYvDkn_lWa8ESwgu0omQtyTKu5tAzWlEeIShpqJ7_Cta-OJ6ijs55gfNMGBDyPB1sRe9GY_P43VMXf1CJ_ie/s400/Larkins,+Gary+Kenedy,+Nr.+Portroe+(1).jpg" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_HH9GmvCE5d8F-hhnNpDIQLij3uHEdNbX48sqSTQiol5mcIPcfTWBwNDVoRfbsSk5snA4pHZ21lGxLKn1sFl_-C2UgXuaeoD2-Vuqq_G7E5s_IZy_ZxkaEdB6_83-Lhw5Xhzpbyj0DdfS/s1600/Templemore+Hunt.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_HH9GmvCE5d8F-hhnNpDIQLij3uHEdNbX48sqSTQiol5mcIPcfTWBwNDVoRfbsSk5snA4pHZ21lGxLKn1sFl_-C2UgXuaeoD2-Vuqq_G7E5s_IZy_ZxkaEdB6_83-Lhw5Xhzpbyj0DdfS/s400/Templemore+Hunt.jpg" /></a><br />
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I fell in love with the country, and the people, whilst cruising round the UK in 2001 – and it hasn’t changed. <br />
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Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-11843049544745472232014-11-06T19:08:00.002+00:002014-11-06T19:22:51.900+00:00From an Ocean to a Sea<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzPAS-dn7zPwi_ymmrLoVfRKB2Cz3CZ_GgVZAFsLGPyE3UkgZ89wNrOXOU9LPphehLOqGlmExy4_4Xp1alCDHq7JQ9IV4AHN2n4r9QugmiUo0417N4LqVzQTpYL6YzWhJIHAFTH_L3G2Em/s1600/Vic+Fort.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzPAS-dn7zPwi_ymmrLoVfRKB2Cz3CZ_GgVZAFsLGPyE3UkgZ89wNrOXOU9LPphehLOqGlmExy4_4Xp1alCDHq7JQ9IV4AHN2n4r9QugmiUo0417N4LqVzQTpYL6YzWhJIHAFTH_L3G2Em/s400/Vic+Fort.jpg" /></a><br />
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Throw him in….Throw him in… they chanted. Firework night was celebrated in style. Little Bay was packed with children – young and old! – for the bonfire, hot dogs, sparklers, and, of-course the fireworks. The bonfire crackled and spat, sending sparks, and flames, high into the moonlit sky. <br />
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An orderly queue, safely marshalled, of kids dragged their guys – pirates, spacemen, monsters, and more, to the fire. On the count, and to the chant “Throw him in…. Throw him in…”, together with a great cheer, the guy’s were thrown. One at a time to the flames they flew. With a background of The Rock, Africa, Spain, and the Bay of Gibraltar, it was a memorable evening.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBuNJFjuzNEP8FUuoeLnlV72sw3MrwRHMNWlAEYk9PGCs6Oi7D9C5bdBrCNpRHd2yWp5byIECoyBjC4OHewJUEQ3HriJ7ZGREfocDz2FkMe08lrkzh88mVmg3QfLvk4eXoAdXAcJRnqs1h/s1600/Firewks.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBuNJFjuzNEP8FUuoeLnlV72sw3MrwRHMNWlAEYk9PGCs6Oi7D9C5bdBrCNpRHd2yWp5byIECoyBjC4OHewJUEQ3HriJ7ZGREfocDz2FkMe08lrkzh88mVmg3QfLvk4eXoAdXAcJRnqs1h/s400/Firewks.jpg" /></a><br />
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The Romans called Gibraltar, Calpe, and recognised the rock as one of the two Pillars of Herakule, the other being Jebel Musa, in the Atlas Mountains, Morocco, on the other side of the Straits. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgWYkbNzuOYQ_YECq3qo1ftKNkkUBeKBwy83xfwQDB247TnPoRy1sZvobTyL7bG9gFjojs9pdsZVemPs3f2iu_hVYMyh9RjPNW4TmgD0YBwx7SGpY_cDhls1ImL2Edh04hNMY0Fp2HGs6I/s1600/Light+Hse.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgWYkbNzuOYQ_YECq3qo1ftKNkkUBeKBwy83xfwQDB247TnPoRy1sZvobTyL7bG9gFjojs9pdsZVemPs3f2iu_hVYMyh9RjPNW4TmgD0YBwx7SGpY_cDhls1ImL2Edh04hNMY0Fp2HGs6I/s400/Light+Hse.jpg" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPDdJoI-DHrfTXkQ5qlNeYCuaT_Q0mpLpc3Tmgh8bmv3_OmZhVnGlT7kguIHrw4g3FekiHE06J-l-xuwmKKLZyMapkBBKJ5eACLRw-L-HIMjPzkoPrFqrOCu0Tn2KBH1vAKocsHcuBanx4/s1600/Tarik+Castle.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPDdJoI-DHrfTXkQ5qlNeYCuaT_Q0mpLpc3Tmgh8bmv3_OmZhVnGlT7kguIHrw4g3FekiHE06J-l-xuwmKKLZyMapkBBKJ5eACLRw-L-HIMjPzkoPrFqrOCu0Tn2KBH1vAKocsHcuBanx4/s400/Tarik+Castle.jpg" /></a><br />
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Neolithic man lived here. The Phoenician’s called it the end of the known world, and it has been fought over by many others, each leaving their imprint, but it was the Moors who gave Gibraltar its present name. Jebel means mountain, Tarik was the Moorish leader who controlled this area and who built his castle on the rock – Jebel Tarik. There are Moorish baths, great bastions, tunnels from the Great Siege and WW2, Victorian and Spanish style housing, the docks that Nelson used, and the airport marking the border with Spain, and still the arguements over ownership rumble on.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOvK5UbWQMqXU2ylK5-AMlqRMizdRnVvQzvkz1hbW8wfBxZXXFIiXmYj-fYGM6DT_oLtMyK0xnZ82PygNBWlQmXlw5tQTY9bAG9uVWTVjUwBt7_EhjufRtXkJQOBFqa3EYaAeqPUWKqvhB/s1600/Baths.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOvK5UbWQMqXU2ylK5-AMlqRMizdRnVvQzvkz1hbW8wfBxZXXFIiXmYj-fYGM6DT_oLtMyK0xnZ82PygNBWlQmXlw5tQTY9bAG9uVWTVjUwBt7_EhjufRtXkJQOBFqa3EYaAeqPUWKqvhB/s400/Baths.jpg" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_W7-S2bM2XLQjf5aLabzUGWu2Zziq7i_nDRFJHmP0axWVCA64tO4GP3i2OqKxhPct5NBLl9EDvCOtRQ_J8U6OMcSpTsAjlNRgGO8QKm9CKT18rvdG209eZkcNv4mywIwZ1VVCjxiBlmSQ/s1600/100+ton.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_W7-S2bM2XLQjf5aLabzUGWu2Zziq7i_nDRFJHmP0axWVCA64tO4GP3i2OqKxhPct5NBLl9EDvCOtRQ_J8U6OMcSpTsAjlNRgGO8QKm9CKT18rvdG209eZkcNv4mywIwZ1VVCjxiBlmSQ/s400/100+ton.jpg" /></a><br />
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Avocette is safely moored in part of the old RN Dockyard. The sun is shining, and temperatures still climb into the low to mid- twenties. This year’s sailing is now at a close. Next years is in the planning; Lift-out and anti-foul in February, then into the Mediterranean in March.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPVZvsRle2cfqIQmxqV0mqlKJnFBKMibKTkS6j8DKAbwE39_lnJK3pDPuxGIrx0bC6BXpbcQqd_9m5oNp37-rIEsNGXuA3XGOnq-Uj1jkUlXv-xvqH00WTq2b43lQP7k0jsa4FQEkqVIRU/s1600/Chart.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPVZvsRle2cfqIQmxqV0mqlKJnFBKMibKTkS6j8DKAbwE39_lnJK3pDPuxGIrx0bC6BXpbcQqd_9m5oNp37-rIEsNGXuA3XGOnq-Uj1jkUlXv-xvqH00WTq2b43lQP7k0jsa4FQEkqVIRU/s400/Chart.jpg" /></a><br />
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The planned route is Costa del Sol, then crossing to explore the Balearics, Sardinia, Sicily, and on to Malta. From Malta we head north to find active volcanoes and ancient ruins, art and history, islands and the Rivera.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDi8yp4k9o8G2wa5y0YHCdfz-8vuPFcwZWiL74lXq2d-ciQuoHuERoyqUY0bjmNl-Lxtk7ysgj4WR-B6y2DWYOoGklbbQcb11ufbMEHntsrUgrfqL_8jx_c2u1l4nGBPHcxaBPajEF8IA7/s1600/AofP.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDi8yp4k9o8G2wa5y0YHCdfz-8vuPFcwZWiL74lXq2d-ciQuoHuERoyqUY0bjmNl-Lxtk7ysgj4WR-B6y2DWYOoGklbbQcb11ufbMEHntsrUgrfqL_8jx_c2u1l4nGBPHcxaBPajEF8IA7/s400/AofP.jpg" /></a><br />
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For once we can be a little more planned in our route and timings, though with sailing nothing is set in stone, and we look forward to lots of family and friends joining our adventure….. but now it’s time to go skiing.<br />
Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-43669048830061338902014-10-27T15:13:00.001+00:002014-10-28T10:23:49.727+00:00To the Immortal MemoryMore sea trials took us back to Cadiz, a vibrant city, full of life. Spanish, German, and American voices on the VHF alerted us to naval ‘goings-on’ as we sailed through the night. An hour before dawn we changed the watch. Graham caught some zzzz’s, and I watched the lights of Cadiz. Windfarms surrounding the bay made spotting navigation light a joke. Each turbine was lit with a flashing white light, cranes and buildings added to the fun with both fixed, and flashing, red lights. The shore-lights just added more colour. <br />
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As I searched for the leading lights that would take us safely in I became aware of a gap in the lights – it was moving. Then another, and another. I slowed Avocette down, and watched as, in line astern, a NATO squadron of naval ships returning from their exercise, crossed ahead of us – not a single navigation light showing on any of them!<br />
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I used to see sights such as this as the Royal Navy sailed in and out of Portsmouth. Now I have to go to Cadiz. What would Nelson have made of it?<br />
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So onto Barbate, its brand new marina, empty, and the town much the same, but they did do a good line in anchors!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0rU9tInz7OQO5ktd-2CDu0yh761C-viOGdh3SyhfUuryU7VSHtY6PmDbMWyWg2zdTJZZRr_2EBXTsDoGALmPw-VZDQAE9fmAqG0ekU-SyikX17QAVpdGd45B2Ffe8br72q99CeMV7deDj/s1600/Barbarte.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0rU9tInz7OQO5ktd-2CDu0yh761C-viOGdh3SyhfUuryU7VSHtY6PmDbMWyWg2zdTJZZRr_2EBXTsDoGALmPw-VZDQAE9fmAqG0ekU-SyikX17QAVpdGd45B2Ffe8br72q99CeMV7deDj/s400/Barbarte.jpg" /></a><br />
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We slipped out, sailed around Tarifa,the southernmost tip of Europe to port, Africa to starboard, and back into Gibraltar. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJx-9eT2h0Xzg6xLQq1Y7BaU1GAolMpX7hN5bRzPiWTnwvNfx5NsAP0gFRqzouLFE0k8HQtaYnAueLwM9XPple__tThBDW70tF1VNI4k-z43KL5nfEBMb6dZfdL0x74YEChqieTLIhyphenhyphenWIu/s1600/Tarifa.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJx-9eT2h0Xzg6xLQq1Y7BaU1GAolMpX7hN5bRzPiWTnwvNfx5NsAP0gFRqzouLFE0k8HQtaYnAueLwM9XPple__tThBDW70tF1VNI4k-z43KL5nfEBMb6dZfdL0x74YEChqieTLIhyphenhyphenWIu/s400/Tarifa.jpg" /></a><br />
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Next stop – the Mediterranian.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiahGNYjdSf1rd-daeFGz00Me3IPFOmgnJ1eigvQb_mpnov8FzJ0ruxZoQ7I7Tiw3-F1gX7rU1W1XPsUlBypHxJxuoSug6hBXFw_pP_dxZXL7164IZFT1Bxk-VVOKx-k4afHG-9iJ478tOY/s1600/Ilha+da+Culatra+(10).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiahGNYjdSf1rd-daeFGz00Me3IPFOmgnJ1eigvQb_mpnov8FzJ0ruxZoQ7I7Tiw3-F1gX7rU1W1XPsUlBypHxJxuoSug6hBXFw_pP_dxZXL7164IZFT1Bxk-VVOKx-k4afHG-9iJ478tOY/s400/Ilha+da+Culatra+(10).jpg" /></a><br />
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Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-59113974544046457822014-10-27T15:03:00.000+00:002014-10-27T15:03:02.070+00:00Ilha da CulatraThe harbour at Faro is reminiscent of Chichester Harbour, and we wanted to explore it, and the old town of Olhao. At the entance, the flood tide ran swift and powerful. Big whirlpools, and cross currents added to the excitement, then we were in. Quiet and calm returned, and we drop anchor, just off the village on the Ilha da Culatra.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDpDoGjWHhsrZId3WxoKY2Gs1YT8LJFsy-aApgYuXC2UQUEvfW6bDSuhtI98YOZofa8oKAGVBSFdXCiB5LjaGYY4u1ckg85FaeTLCs-QzQjOtzY1YVvpSiBuL0HWoWbKH5T31ghLeJOD3f/s1600/Ilha+da+Culatra+(12).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDpDoGjWHhsrZId3WxoKY2Gs1YT8LJFsy-aApgYuXC2UQUEvfW6bDSuhtI98YOZofa8oKAGVBSFdXCiB5LjaGYY4u1ckg85FaeTLCs-QzQjOtzY1YVvpSiBuL0HWoWbKH5T31ghLeJOD3f/s400/Ilha+da+Culatra+(12).jpg" /></a><br />
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The harbour is large. Withies, assorted flags, buoys, and fishing floats, mark the safe channels through the mud flats, fish-traps, and trammel nets. Local boat-boys zoom around ferrying the days catch to market, out to Culatra, or into the old town of Olhao, with It’s classic Portuguese buildings, and cobbled streets hinting at a distant prosperity, and its Roman and Moorish ancestry.<br />
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Back across the harbour, life is still tough. The men fish, the women manage the shellfish nurseries. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO2PTwfUpnoZGhfgEsMzC-pDjhU11yr1XqwwT1dSWWiH84Dlig0FNi0eFNYkrNGevJaY28V0oEXk3y6bNF6B1p9bcq6Tn0o94z1Aq6lyQ3oE9iArFbisb29VxmbjD1pZkN_JLGxuTA4jyl/s1600/Ilha+da+Culatra+(8).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO2PTwfUpnoZGhfgEsMzC-pDjhU11yr1XqwwT1dSWWiH84Dlig0FNi0eFNYkrNGevJaY28V0oEXk3y6bNF6B1p9bcq6Tn0o94z1Aq6lyQ3oE9iArFbisb29VxmbjD1pZkN_JLGxuTA4jyl/s400/Ilha+da+Culatra+(8).jpg" /></a><br />
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It was only in the late sixties and seventies, that an effort was made to support the community on the Ilha da Culatra, and water, electricity, and sewerage systems were installed. The single story houses are built on the sand. There are no roads, no cars or bikes – just a few tractors to relieve the fishermen of some of the heavy tasks, and outboards to power the boats. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjECB2oFk59K8tnc0EqicU2XXvn8wYd9T1hX7XGwUEPb3DsaQgTpyEF1FIilnD5JZ7zmkooqxGoGgs7eSs7KmpfGaFcZDPH7l98Jzvo37Ma0H8AKQ5nGxm6Gc0sI-L0-P77RIdGn1CC0zKL/s1600/Ilha+da+Culatra+(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjECB2oFk59K8tnc0EqicU2XXvn8wYd9T1hX7XGwUEPb3DsaQgTpyEF1FIilnD5JZ7zmkooqxGoGgs7eSs7KmpfGaFcZDPH7l98Jzvo37Ma0H8AKQ5nGxm6Gc0sI-L0-P77RIdGn1CC0zKL/s400/Ilha+da+Culatra+(3).jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsCCbfZu-HcG_6zVKfQ3ZUfS5ZVYXRlIIcxhHIScwy6uBza8tuRQDEr7Ie8ARHK8mC1US8PcXzIRV8XozMOHkWVGBvT3SPX1Na0TUrcvH8pEZKPgVfzh49XE_PIM0CiJ_qsVB1GKXqJ-GN/s1600/Ilha+da+Culatra+(7).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsCCbfZu-HcG_6zVKfQ3ZUfS5ZVYXRlIIcxhHIScwy6uBza8tuRQDEr7Ie8ARHK8mC1US8PcXzIRV8XozMOHkWVGBvT3SPX1Na0TUrcvH8pEZKPgVfzh49XE_PIM0CiJ_qsVB1GKXqJ-GN/s400/Ilha+da+Culatra+(7).jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR8Q_Ao9SLOFe4AK8517vz9VkQ-PK55pyKBNIBKE0XXVqH38BcJAdqnBoYJd6XLBCrze-FO-9KCuK9aiGd3QW73-QLJQlJfTGkQ-qLCLIA5i1Xwlf0tNSyo5-mIC6MnPMEF8LwkstXmOMj/s1600/Ilha+da+Culatra+(9).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR8Q_Ao9SLOFe4AK8517vz9VkQ-PK55pyKBNIBKE0XXVqH38BcJAdqnBoYJd6XLBCrze-FO-9KCuK9aiGd3QW73-QLJQlJfTGkQ-qLCLIA5i1Xwlf0tNSyo5-mIC6MnPMEF8LwkstXmOMj/s400/Ilha+da+Culatra+(9).jpg" /></a>Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-66511098984067237862014-10-27T14:49:00.001+00:002014-10-27T14:49:50.036+00:00Algares = Potholes in Sandstone CliffsOur return to Lagos proved a good move. Contacts in the Ocean Cruising Club quickly led me to the right man to sort out the chartplotters. Slowly and methodically they were brought back to life. Now they needed testing. We had to go sailing. We tried them under sail, under engine. We tried them with the radar on, and off. All seemed good. As a reward we popped into Portimao, and dropped the hook.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNE8gblkK60gkN1qPvTUt4d17fJoWkJvGjGfHT9H0_VvG6dfx6rSgTusPCCS9FeCCse17gB-0V_PF13Z2rFVZ-Bg0TD2XozKThSCD1aWsfFhfyTxlOzCIfY1GGEXpiZWF41nZ2UIH_Nci/s1600/Ferragudo+(33).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmNE8gblkK60gkN1qPvTUt4d17fJoWkJvGjGfHT9H0_VvG6dfx6rSgTusPCCS9FeCCse17gB-0V_PF13Z2rFVZ-Bg0TD2XozKThSCD1aWsfFhfyTxlOzCIfY1GGEXpiZWF41nZ2UIH_Nci/s400/Ferragudo+(33).jpg" /></a><br />
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The river is big enough for small cruise liners to visit, and most of their passengers stay in Portimao, or visit the long sandy beach at Praia de Rocha. We headed for the sleepy east bank, to Ferragudo. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizUcGHaHofvVC6dUi61TXrejyKE0H_DGmm6afcUbNEOi4jbZi_Gu4pz76T2T1_M3eaNGY7BmYXvhe5LTRRKmuyJLTjHvi61BnFpXPJCmokEs1_qrTJh4qsqff6cALqe95Mo4oLNqV8ZCUs/s1600/Ferragudo+(15).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizUcGHaHofvVC6dUi61TXrejyKE0H_DGmm6afcUbNEOi4jbZi_Gu4pz76T2T1_M3eaNGY7BmYXvhe5LTRRKmuyJLTjHvi61BnFpXPJCmokEs1_qrTJh4qsqff6cALqe95Mo4oLNqV8ZCUs/s400/Ferragudo+(15).jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaef40-hojCb5JfnBgWB8BiZbYMvcGhu9tst732t8cG8zheUbUwaSlErVCqwaY4daOgN0EVuGTb-u0YqK861N9XRLRa29o6F09Eey3LH5QfFFcomokQlOM5ZftNO0D1DiGuDXkFZlyfol8/s1600/Ferragudo+(23).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaef40-hojCb5JfnBgWB8BiZbYMvcGhu9tst732t8cG8zheUbUwaSlErVCqwaY4daOgN0EVuGTb-u0YqK861N9XRLRa29o6F09Eey3LH5QfFFcomokQlOM5ZftNO0D1DiGuDXkFZlyfol8/s400/Ferragudo+(23).jpg" /></a><br />
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With the fishermen’s blessing we tied the dinghy at the side of the slip, between their boats, and stood watching, fascinated as they mended their nets on the quay, before meandering up the narrow cobbled backstreets to the church, then on along the cliff tops. As the sun slowly dipped the sandstone cliffs shone gold, amber, and ruby red. Surfers caught the rolling surf, and we caught a sundowner at the bar on the beach, our toes nestling in the warm sand.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNtGDZne9XdHzq1h_FBsUz_DbOE2QbflTP3HfwaTMo_luk6vTPpxCSKkPu-X9_0-c03ubduVzEDTSqVoifI7ywAhQwBuvm61FC4IvlbXXZjyad4DH0QGt0o6ZSv1VXwPnVna04Wl4zbBYf/s1600/Ferragudo+(21).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNtGDZne9XdHzq1h_FBsUz_DbOE2QbflTP3HfwaTMo_luk6vTPpxCSKkPu-X9_0-c03ubduVzEDTSqVoifI7ywAhQwBuvm61FC4IvlbXXZjyad4DH0QGt0o6ZSv1VXwPnVna04Wl4zbBYf/s400/Ferragudo+(21).jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqd7XHgEXJRB2xmqJbGh52l_E9X4kS-0StID_8-XBJ0c38tDjSaW3R7CSs_HDXoCN6wA8eoD7nuSEONl9du2v7TqXi0MsQ6Lay-hP6VXAHK_y8Jn4OQZAdRkcAflXoSeKDDX-HAm8BnGmO/s1600/Ferragudo+(30).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqd7XHgEXJRB2xmqJbGh52l_E9X4kS-0StID_8-XBJ0c38tDjSaW3R7CSs_HDXoCN6wA8eoD7nuSEONl9du2v7TqXi0MsQ6Lay-hP6VXAHK_y8Jn4OQZAdRkcAflXoSeKDDX-HAm8BnGmO/s400/Ferragudo+(30).jpg" /></a><br />
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More sea-trials followed. All works well –such a relief. <br />
Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-69322225845382850222014-10-10T12:06:00.001+00:002014-10-10T12:11:38.942+00:00Blind NavigationThe crossing from Morocco back to Gibraltar had been a challenge. Thick fog obscured the very busy shipping lanes that we were crossing. The forecast 15kt wind decided to be 18-20+kts. This pushed the sea into a confused wind against tide, and the waves just grew bigger. To add to the difficulties the Raymarine chartplotter and radar, in the cockpit, decided to choose that moment to pack-up.<br />
Back in Gib, no help was found, but with the main plotter at the chart table working OK, we set off for Madeira.<br />
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Again the weather gods had us in their sites. Blue sky, sunshine, a perfect NE 10knots sent us on our way. Six miles later it was blowing 18kts – great sailing!<br />
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By the time we reached Tarifa, ten miles further on, the wind and seas had built. Now it was no main, and no jib – just a small staysail. We surfed the 4m waves at over 9kts in 38kts of wind, and darkness was approaching.<br />
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The winds eased a little, so did the sea. Talking to other yachts spread from Gib to Tenerife, to Madeira on the long range radio (SSB), we heard that everyone was enjoying fast sailing. The good news was; the further west you got, the more the wind and seas dropped. <br />
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Two days later, nearly half way to Madeira, the chartplotters’ threw all their toys out of the pram. No longer would they maintain their displays. The choices: Return to Gib 200 miles up wind? Carry on out into the Atlantic for Madeira, another 250 miles down wind? Tack for the Algarve 120 miles across the wind to the north? I tacked.<br />
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Twenty-four hours later, just as dawn broke, we entered the river at Portimao. Anchor down, head down, and a good sleep. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGMw1J61bHSsEBd_Jlj1EujhlQduBs0wnmmkPuCqs5BxYIm3T-I57ZEpnLPbVj7uyngRTBx65gwxSPrMBqAtKstiXMF6Ohw9liaDTefhtIVKccLZz9qYPmO1UtE0ndB-Dn1NGcPCTHdszJ/s1600/Portimao+(4).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGMw1J61bHSsEBd_Jlj1EujhlQduBs0wnmmkPuCqs5BxYIm3T-I57ZEpnLPbVj7uyngRTBx65gwxSPrMBqAtKstiXMF6Ohw9liaDTefhtIVKccLZz9qYPmO1UtE0ndB-Dn1NGcPCTHdszJ/s400/Portimao+(4).jpg" /></a><br />
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The anchorage was pretty, and very secure. Golden cliffs and sandy beaches surrounded us. And the sun shone. In town, the high-rise blocks encircled the old town with its quaint little parks. It was a pleasure to while away the minutes sitting on tiled seating, to enjoy the flower beds, the mosaic pavement, and the sun-drenched trees wrapped in crocheted artwork.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl8VT4PKt-Kxn0R_OxcKa52ymeSDkBEH8qaFAGBOdsXkXek91cQlcRMnQljxoFqwnoPESfC8znVNDVdvdSueWcWCrrUwcnJFZvKk321thAuL9LUr4A0zvqjqgAy1xpkUWjR67MA8bMErV3/s1600/Portimao+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl8VT4PKt-Kxn0R_OxcKa52ymeSDkBEH8qaFAGBOdsXkXek91cQlcRMnQljxoFqwnoPESfC8znVNDVdvdSueWcWCrrUwcnJFZvKk321thAuL9LUr4A0zvqjqgAy1xpkUWjR67MA8bMErV3/s400/Portimao+(1).jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZGewn87SiiFHYghXFd3G7gql-FfwUusEciukkk6Ir15A2KCxkb9JOUYLdnzyOx3V8UoBCp-BnYhdFeAUcVq1WLL4CJRlVY-9oQKX2l1LedzbFYardGsG6Wtd7NyLvQI61AQg7r7boe9e/s1600/Portimao+(7).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZGewn87SiiFHYghXFd3G7gql-FfwUusEciukkk6Ir15A2KCxkb9JOUYLdnzyOx3V8UoBCp-BnYhdFeAUcVq1WLL4CJRlVY-9oQKX2l1LedzbFYardGsG6Wtd7NyLvQI61AQg7r7boe9e/s400/Portimao+(7).jpg" /></a><br />
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Always a trading port from early Phoenician, then Roman times, Portimao again came to prominence in the early days of the slave-trade, then later, building perhaps the largest sardine fishing and canning industry in Portugal. Now its tourism.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidU7oRIfLuTyYZmbnJPavTB5TtYAJ-B_C8BRaH6R3ZXmPVIVfNMU5p_4Afl6yzdKK5oY63o77fMW0R9HrdmBxc2sFRrFMc-zjeOLKOPzdp-eqUFGlDoVGkdWY1kFBl7Yr-fHpeknQsXoXC/s1600/Portimao+(6).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidU7oRIfLuTyYZmbnJPavTB5TtYAJ-B_C8BRaH6R3ZXmPVIVfNMU5p_4Afl6yzdKK5oY63o77fMW0R9HrdmBxc2sFRrFMc-zjeOLKOPzdp-eqUFGlDoVGkdWY1kFBl7Yr-fHpeknQsXoXC/s400/Portimao+(6).jpg" /></a><br />
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Back on the boat, enquiries had revealed that repairs were possible here, but not speaking Portuguese was a handicap, so we sailed across the bay to Lagos. Contacts in the Ocean Cruising Club soon unearthed some help. So now we wait, fingers crossed, that all will be repaired, and we can resume our travels.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjliMTYejXTcueKhozKD6OB-Np5lb8pyRm4f8WVm5OaUh79Jb0aDI0ragc_3NXR7xYvFZcblgWJHM_hn68d-XjHmLlaVGAMSqtjCiO2mP5-41uHoAst3WNXJHHa2MbyXFKHwfEy9RNKouTX/s1600/IMGP0188.MOV" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjliMTYejXTcueKhozKD6OB-Np5lb8pyRm4f8WVm5OaUh79Jb0aDI0ragc_3NXR7xYvFZcblgWJHM_hn68d-XjHmLlaVGAMSqtjCiO2mP5-41uHoAst3WNXJHHa2MbyXFKHwfEy9RNKouTX/s400/IMGP0188.MOV" /></a><br />
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Today it rained!<br />
Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-6787185948060851762014-09-29T15:47:00.001+00:002014-09-29T15:59:15.824+00:00The African ContinentSome hard decisions had to be made. We had left England later than originally planned, and it has taken three weeks longer than expected to work our way down the west coast of Europe. Now the wind has gone. There is little or none in the Med, and little or none in the Atlantic. Malta is now out of reach this year, but the fickle winds won’t take us to Madeira either! <br />
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Morocco was the only choice – if only to wait for the wind to return.<br />
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A big toothless grin greeted our arrival. Ahmed, my guide from my last visit to Smir, helped us secure our lines, and I was only too happy to barter with him for a day out in the mountains to see the souk and the old towns high in the Atlas mountains. But first the formalities…<br />
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Gone are the delays and long waits. Gone are the bribes and sweeteners of a few years ago. Entry into Morocco is simple. The friendly marina staff do most of the work, but the Police stamp your passports, both in, and out, of the country.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCUz_IzVy2zSCi1yyMzrbRliiOwsnvvK7uEvZy1KnjtSQl1EomLG9A-5sOc93OtmGvNbdUEC1hNPryJHGpVrzDaybXG2oRfkPP6sGHqBaXK2d-mpB1Iut4xECoS6Gi2ojCGVCRnhFLV380/s1600/20140926_112605.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCUz_IzVy2zSCi1yyMzrbRliiOwsnvvK7uEvZy1KnjtSQl1EomLG9A-5sOc93OtmGvNbdUEC1hNPryJHGpVrzDaybXG2oRfkPP6sGHqBaXK2d-mpB1Iut4xECoS6Gi2ojCGVCRnhFLV380/s400/20140926_112605.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTjjZsjcPosi7Zu3UG4YAapE4YiwlrPEoJGhFKGrPEPvi5PWmU2TyNzx4rOtmj4n_2z9q-3kj95ztrhExi8uiMEGgFkEfbeZ0wEZE81Y3-ihJ8-JAy_6fQKRQ4JRKT_Mh4p9bwRZPU-n_/s1600/20140926_112737.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnTjjZsjcPosi7Zu3UG4YAapE4YiwlrPEoJGhFKGrPEPvi5PWmU2TyNzx4rOtmj4n_2z9q-3kj95ztrhExi8uiMEGgFkEfbeZ0wEZE81Y3-ihJ8-JAy_6fQKRQ4JRKT_Mh4p9bwRZPU-n_/s400/20140926_112737.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiezQhgLTAWEP0womJWnf9aXJ2nO3LNyHdDaXqPTAy1yVQWahEY-enAkQcgE9ikVTUvqgbAM09usGXaM7EGnERH_NadXM24chhV-hq8suTjI3c5S7rxZ2U9gsJzLOhIAT9LjYrZTq2icrT3/s1600/20140926_113023.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiezQhgLTAWEP0womJWnf9aXJ2nO3LNyHdDaXqPTAy1yVQWahEY-enAkQcgE9ikVTUvqgbAM09usGXaM7EGnERH_NadXM24chhV-hq8suTjI3c5S7rxZ2U9gsJzLOhIAT9LjYrZTq2icrT3/s400/20140926_113023.jpg" /></a> <br />
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The drive into the mountains was fascinating. Soaring 2500m, they are covered in patchy course vegetation and small trees. Olive groves abound. Cattle, sheep, and goats, are frequently seen searching out a tender morsel. In this harsh environment the only form of transport for many of the local farmers is the mule, or donkey, and it’s not uncommon to see them in the fields, or on the road, a slow plodding train heading for market. Most wear traditional colourful dress, and some, especially the women, also wear the conical straw hats adorned with tufts of coloured fur. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV0-bih30145xgv6Ys8JGn9EtvmkJUVc-MhB4WNeW2OfG0D-mj4PJQlwtvSMstELljDF_fr25D0P0NUVNGy_9_qbLPARtoYlGGYMBJ6VHT4qVgv5piQsKUf6nbc_KNYuNbvsghKV1E-hJD/s1600/20140926_115645.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV0-bih30145xgv6Ys8JGn9EtvmkJUVc-MhB4WNeW2OfG0D-mj4PJQlwtvSMstELljDF_fr25D0P0NUVNGy_9_qbLPARtoYlGGYMBJ6VHT4qVgv5piQsKUf6nbc_KNYuNbvsghKV1E-hJD/s400/20140926_115645.jpg" /></a><br />
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We visited two cities, Chefchaouen – the blue city – with its Casbah – it’s old medieval town with its winding narrow lanes snaking around the hilltop, the houses steps, even the paths painted in a variety of shades of blue. Many of the old buildings have been modernised, many sprout satellite dishes from their flat roofs. Most have electricity, and water, but the communal taps are still in use – there’s no tax to use them, or the mountain streams, so the women can still be seen scrubbing carpets, and treading the washing, then hanging it on the rocks to dry.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTFx5Q-49IItAtKXqkPvYzTPPPye-bYwRBcVBFRsCHDecJt2Ym9R80t8cci2htPHSAGuxCrow5w0yRl7gNHQxW2hYCaKi5bWbTHW7en1CmeU5UIxAeOCgLILkVRqHaQZf7BQiOd6TGnsx/s1600/20140926_120028.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyTFx5Q-49IItAtKXqkPvYzTPPPye-bYwRBcVBFRsCHDecJt2Ym9R80t8cci2htPHSAGuxCrow5w0yRl7gNHQxW2hYCaKi5bWbTHW7en1CmeU5UIxAeOCgLILkVRqHaQZf7BQiOd6TGnsx/s400/20140926_120028.jpg" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbv061HH6jKp7gYbc8wYA3eIaEN32xRTTCLn4x3qH1r7LgzXC9X9zFndOnE4ttuBkP-m2z-MsFXpKdbGAAcbwCMUsKm0hd5oahkBp_MMz2q7-vaTuwPnKid38pvw68IA0ygV9-M1BLoPUe/s1600/20140926_143415.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbv061HH6jKp7gYbc8wYA3eIaEN32xRTTCLn4x3qH1r7LgzXC9X9zFndOnE4ttuBkP-m2z-MsFXpKdbGAAcbwCMUsKm0hd5oahkBp_MMz2q7-vaTuwPnKid38pvw68IA0ygV9-M1BLoPUe/s400/20140926_143415.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6zXD4tK2lAKIopema8WOt7X8pbMsI8AwFCEG50HFR_fMEAawOSqT78X9Y4uf0ud6PBLmJYJb_k90DaAtBiZ7NlPrWVMgYFDvNRAkq6h6SPmZNVOzFaqwywB16rd1Y9WkanCnvOc9oJYgL/s1600/20140926_144702.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6zXD4tK2lAKIopema8WOt7X8pbMsI8AwFCEG50HFR_fMEAawOSqT78X9Y4uf0ud6PBLmJYJb_k90DaAtBiZ7NlPrWVMgYFDvNRAkq6h6SPmZNVOzFaqwywB16rd1Y9WkanCnvOc9oJYgL/s400/20140926_144702.jpg" /></a><br />
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Arriving in Tetuoun, the white city, Ahmed asked if we would like lunch. Western food, or traditional local fare? The chance to try a shish kebab and couscous was a winner. Fully replete, it was off to the souk. Amongst its whitewashed walls you can buy anything. Carpets of course, even a remote control for a twenty year old TV, and computers from a bygone age. New plastic bowls and clay tagines, new clothes, old clothes and shoes –new and second-hand spill from the stalls, or laid out on the dusty road. Then there are the herbs and spices, wonderful breads, vegetables, meat, and fish. The smell of the souk is unforgettable.<br />
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All was fresh, the fish not long caught. The chicken was certainly fresh – still running around. The blood and trimmings from the butchered meat and fish was then washed down with buckets of water and run down the central gutter of the narrow street….I rolled my trousers up!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQzg_egUQvYonm-nZx-bGfJIxzJhc9XynS1-t4eQcIOxeIhhj45MlrTsDRE97ihx8GBvn5C8FJ14G92fNC-6aqrr98GdhZHqnYIyo5Vc9EYlTz-8VQtqaCX_ocEElZxfgLfwZy8pY3ftf/s1600/20140926_143251.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDQzg_egUQvYonm-nZx-bGfJIxzJhc9XynS1-t4eQcIOxeIhhj45MlrTsDRE97ihx8GBvn5C8FJ14G92fNC-6aqrr98GdhZHqnYIyo5Vc9EYlTz-8VQtqaCX_ocEElZxfgLfwZy8pY3ftf/s400/20140926_143251.jpg" /></a><br />
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Sailing back to Gib was an experience! The forecast light easterly blew 18-20kts. The wind against tide lifted short steep waves to 3+metres, and the thick fog hid all from sight – as we crossed on of the busiest shipping lanes in the world!<br />
At last the wind returns – we hope – so tomorrow we sail out into the Atlantic, destination Porto Santo 30M north of Madeira.Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-86399441287363632192014-09-26T21:03:00.002+00:002014-09-27T21:01:50.232+00:00The Rock<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgic30y-zXnrGIiZmppCOZ8FgiZ4BPaPrD9XStOCXaX_G0eQJB8XBcz0dnCivg5euO28qeqPlfVgLidjfMbCmIP9Xk0dTPGVIoTmv72qnFG-mOok4-o8XKU7FILyRR133O5Sk-sXNzBxDY2/s1600/Gibraltar.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgic30y-zXnrGIiZmppCOZ8FgiZ4BPaPrD9XStOCXaX_G0eQJB8XBcz0dnCivg5euO28qeqPlfVgLidjfMbCmIP9Xk0dTPGVIoTmv72qnFG-mOok4-o8XKU7FILyRR133O5Sk-sXNzBxDY2/s400/Gibraltar.jpg" /></a><br />
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There really is no question as to who owns the "Rock", Britian? Spain? It's the Apes!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipNH1oeALrK3AGQ5IqaLgJjHZOf3x-0CeQswvO3646VbVXW7z-NMkwyf3TU5W1qToKfK6_V8qA2JFfDsfZFVZmMtQPNE7l_9upkadAaq34vcNQYkQhdfOYvpYXeePbqEQmiHSS7IN3nAsd/s1600/It's%2BMY%2BRock.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipNH1oeALrK3AGQ5IqaLgJjHZOf3x-0CeQswvO3646VbVXW7z-NMkwyf3TU5W1qToKfK6_V8qA2JFfDsfZFVZmMtQPNE7l_9upkadAaq34vcNQYkQhdfOYvpYXeePbqEQmiHSS7IN3nAsd/s400/It's%2BMY%2BRock.jpg" /></a><br />
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There is not much there, a big rock, some reclaimed land, and an airstrip, but its what's inside the rock is fascinating.<br />
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At one end there is St Michaels' Cave which has some fabulous stalagtites. The main cavern is cleverly used for concerts - an experience for another day. The section through the fallen stalagtite reveals the beauty created by nature over time, with water drawing down, and realigning the elements of the rocks<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZko2QuZ0u0WxIb1QSMSWWxJ7Rgoq8_shQjS9iijw3WrbMS4QGxKsTVF81oN-QIne5zX-NcI9lY6BBODBEpPOe1ro861bc8-2qhIC51iYvxUljWG7TysPlvLsWhxtnAK8rpaMnYudsqOvI/s1600/Section+of+Staligmight.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZko2QuZ0u0WxIb1QSMSWWxJ7Rgoq8_shQjS9iijw3WrbMS4QGxKsTVF81oN-QIne5zX-NcI9lY6BBODBEpPOe1ro861bc8-2qhIC51iYvxUljWG7TysPlvLsWhxtnAK8rpaMnYudsqOvI/s400/Section+of+Staligmight.jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwczKcA5qD7GdIg-m9CmUiSf1WHUOuYRiyb09l-v1fr1SsHAFzzE1ZZtLSbTZWQ3s2qxXxsj6mRYFibg4eEOom1mdSVpcuCzAfo8W-NGgmAys560jdNbli6IgwURsbuRZCIhH8gZE7Zzee/s1600/St+Michaels+Cave.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwczKcA5qD7GdIg-m9CmUiSf1WHUOuYRiyb09l-v1fr1SsHAFzzE1ZZtLSbTZWQ3s2qxXxsj6mRYFibg4eEOom1mdSVpcuCzAfo8W-NGgmAys560jdNbli6IgwURsbuRZCIhH8gZE7Zzee/s400/St+Michaels+Cave.jpg" /></a> <br />
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At the other end, are the Great Siege Tunnels. Dug through the rock with pick, shovel, and gunpowder, they served to fire down on the attacking Spanish, the heavy cannons having been dragged by hand up the rock.<br />
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No visit to Gib would be complete without a courtesy visit to the RGYC, and the hope of sailing one of their Victories. The welcome was warm and friendly. Their new club boasts workshops and boat storage, a marina, views across the harbour, all enjoyed from their terrace... or bar, or restaurant, or swimming pool..... where did the Portsmouth Victory Class go wrong?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj44DsZbz1C190F1Oyi8V3kQ1XFKQplPN-OYoQAc2ELESCJV9B24-O8iXurW5fQi5fPuTvj1c4VCqMbD5y9OiVcyE0y8_sSP5Fv6T1N3hmY1igwDXhT3bm7WBn2LXsuzTYSvhWDEvjiDUuB/s1600/GYBC.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj44DsZbz1C190F1Oyi8V3kQ1XFKQplPN-OYoQAc2ELESCJV9B24-O8iXurW5fQi5fPuTvj1c4VCqMbD5y9OiVcyE0y8_sSP5Fv6T1N3hmY1igwDXhT3bm7WBn2LXsuzTYSvhWDEvjiDUuB/s400/GYBC.jpg" /></a> <br />
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Gib done, time to move on. A new contient awaits across the Straits - Africa. Morocco's Atlas mountains reach 2500m to touch the clouds. Mmm tagines, couscous, Souks, and Casbah's.... Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-66570710036504907182014-09-19T11:51:00.001+00:002014-09-19T11:51:20.286+00:00The One that got Away.......Fishing is big all down this coast. Leaving Baiona the sea was glassy-flat. Engine on, we motored our way towards the border. Pot-markers littered the sea turning it into a slalom course. From the cliffs a fishing boat sped out turning at the last moment to pass, not across our wake but our bows. As he passed lobster-pots tumbled from his transom. Two boat lengths ahead of us he zig-zagged across our bow miles of floating line running from his stern. The result was inevitable. The underwater winch (propeller) wound the line tightly round the shaft. the engine stopped. We were caught.<br />
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Meet the Locals!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAFCIvRmmejUTGiPHPserCswJZdGLSWKF9-jhRNRhhyphenhyphenvMSC1XrSo5X6BpaAIGpviLf_WmT2xFfDLUG-5AEH9ZRLhXIm2bsm1PYo9ugoi6u4VwOaze2wesKOyXdgKxgxsQgV8zxhlKf8LKT/s1600/20140908_101236+He+said+cut+the+line.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAFCIvRmmejUTGiPHPserCswJZdGLSWKF9-jhRNRhhyphenhyphenvMSC1XrSo5X6BpaAIGpviLf_WmT2xFfDLUG-5AEH9ZRLhXIm2bsm1PYo9ugoi6u4VwOaze2wesKOyXdgKxgxsQgV8zxhlKf8LKT/s400/20140908_101236+He+said+cut+the+line.jpg" /></a><br />
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They thought it a great game. Graham donned his dive gear, bread knife in hand, and we were free. Thankfully no damage done.<br />
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No trip down the west coast of Portugal is complete without a stop at Nazare. A quaint old town with its bullring sits atop of the cliffs, narrow streets of little family run restaurants hide behind the sandy beach where freshly caught sardines air-dry on the racks, before being sold, by the old fisher-folk still in their traditional dress, to passers-by.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT_ic8aoU3DPlX-S03Uv04xntcw_dDoceRc2ZNHnJKS2LzcSoo5yI8NnDge5YBrVpf07hgr_3F31fwvU2AHVNmNb2C5rKmCZS97oPvJdPHrWMLt38p3htblf1DuLhbv9YdvKyOqiscNzS5/s1600/Nazare+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT_ic8aoU3DPlX-S03Uv04xntcw_dDoceRc2ZNHnJKS2LzcSoo5yI8NnDge5YBrVpf07hgr_3F31fwvU2AHVNmNb2C5rKmCZS97oPvJdPHrWMLt38p3htblf1DuLhbv9YdvKyOqiscNzS5/s400/Nazare+(2).jpg" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpHCgpDIPcRVw9swCyVd2MAJhnqAZQn7u0ynje28L1AL2zLtDzRU-iNEbkO_a1jTy458G4_kBpBKV2iIJG29xa5BAKJDY689kKtAYyVXeVacQ1GGIe8TnO74i9rje8l6hG8uqcnoL6EJiC/s1600/Nazare+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpHCgpDIPcRVw9swCyVd2MAJhnqAZQn7u0ynje28L1AL2zLtDzRU-iNEbkO_a1jTy458G4_kBpBKV2iIJG29xa5BAKJDY689kKtAYyVXeVacQ1GGIe8TnO74i9rje8l6hG8uqcnoL6EJiC/s400/Nazare+(3).JPG" /></a><br />
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Nazare hit the headlines in the world press on 30th January 2013, when a surfer rode the biggest wave in the world. Now it’s a mecca for surfers. Its long sandy beaches stretch for miles. Beach fishing is difficult as the waves, even on a calm day, are big enough to surf, and crash noisily on the sand. Rock fishing is, however, popular – even from the top of the cliffs!<br />
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It was a good feeling to round Cape St Vincent. The weather changed instantly. Head winds became tail winds, the sky became a mass of stars. Now, a new challenge – tuna nets! Tuna nets are on, or near the surface. Perpendicular to the shore, and can be a mile or so long, and they are guarded fiercely.<br />
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The multi-coloured cliffs, sandy beaches, and Mediterranean climate of the Algarve attract the tourists, and the harbours are buzzing. Busy bars, great seafood, and a great mix of nationalities guarantees a great party atmosphere; and the party goes on well into the night.<br />
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The friendliness of the locals is great. Whilst in Vilamoura, and short of propane gas, I went in search. Quite randomly, I asked in a kiosk that was advertising sailing, and trips to see the caves. The owner was so helpful. He gave up explaining, got out his car, and drove me, and the empty gas tanks, the twenty miles to the only garage able to fill them, then brought me back to the boat. Invited onboard, he carried one tank as we chatted, and payment – my round next time we met, he insisted. <br />
Portugal to the left – Spain to the right<br />
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The Rio Guardiana marks the end of Portugals 500 miles of coastline. Entering the river was like entering Chichester Harbour, keep to the port hand marks for deeper water, kitesurfers on the east side sandbanks. We headed for the Spanish marina of Ayamonte and its pretty old town. The Habas con Choco was delicious (broad beans and cuttlefish)!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiY_qSMbFCdQZr9moRVU3Cnz54bdgpw-ce4NU7xLNNTgILXcF2yGa32T2w77SwDXsQQeY1Wc3iISrBki1wTN49qxM_zGYVLtpf89anpxwhKNwGt-dghfSg04_3QajSZ51NU3ls5wjM6pkw/s1600/Rio+Guardiana.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiY_qSMbFCdQZr9moRVU3Cnz54bdgpw-ce4NU7xLNNTgILXcF2yGa32T2w77SwDXsQQeY1Wc3iISrBki1wTN49qxM_zGYVLtpf89anpxwhKNwGt-dghfSg04_3QajSZ51NU3ls5wjM6pkw/s400/Rio+Guardiana.jpg" /></a><br />
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The one that didn’t get away<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02PHgwax0u4K4O7mYjn8Y0P2KUHK7BGUWOcQrlEuH8MSX-3axOLmPAKvfirEuoBnhj0d6nFs9ZmcWiafFTBnmNk_FSH0oKZ6KeC5QDL9WVQSexPyr9oQEqLhyrNwudtbiKdqHyBLPyN7n/s1600/5lb+Tuna.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02PHgwax0u4K4O7mYjn8Y0P2KUHK7BGUWOcQrlEuH8MSX-3axOLmPAKvfirEuoBnhj0d6nFs9ZmcWiafFTBnmNk_FSH0oKZ6KeC5QDL9WVQSexPyr9oQEqLhyrNwudtbiKdqHyBLPyN7n/s400/5lb+Tuna.jpg" /></a><br />
Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8310588534525879052.post-64757497457718014462014-09-19T11:41:00.002+00:002014-09-19T11:41:38.391+00:00GaliciaCommon Dolphins play around the boat.<br />
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Dragging ourselves away from Galicia, NW Spain, was tough. It’s a great area. Lovely people, great scenery, and the Rias - just fabulous. <br />
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Our last stop in Galicia, was just a brief sail from Vigo, and what a contrast. Vigo has taken quite a knock in this financial climate. Much is closed, new builds are abandoned unfinished, and the docks appear very run-down. By Contrast, Bayona, just 10 miles away is a bustling old town, set in the shadow of the old fortifications and nestling behind the headland on the southern side of the Ria da Vigo.<br />
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The Marinero helped us secure to the club pontoon, briefed us on the layout of the facilities, and explained it was their ORC National Regatta weekend so there was a big party, and we were invited. The clubhouse is excellent. Set in the old fort, with ramparts, arches and old portcullises, overlooking the secure bay with its sandy beaches, it wasn’t difficult to enjoy the free beer, and free tapas, as the music played.<br />
Monte Real Club de Yates Baiona.Chris Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02350276222050101434noreply@blogger.com1