Sole, Lundy, Fastnet

There are few shearwaters around now, and surprisingly, no storm petrels. The fishing reflects the cold water too, so no more mahi-mahi. The weather has turned much colder; the sea is no longer blue.

Watching the endlessly changing pattern of the waves, listening to the fizz from Avocette's wash as we surged across the ocean, my heart leapt. It was unmistakable. The blow, the fin, the enormous arching grey back - a Sei whale, almost as long as the boat. It powered over to us, dived under the boat, and surfaced the other side. Its shallow dive was barely below the surface. We could see the "fluke-prints", or swirls left by the beat of its tail just below the surface as it swum alongside us. Its sickle shape fin followed by it's arching back rose from the surface, submerged, then rose again. Then it was gone. As silently as it had come the whale had carried on its way.

Last night was dark - very, very dark. I have never sailed on such a dark night. There were no stars. There was no horizon. All was inky black. All except the bow wave, the wash, the crests of the foaming seas - all lit-up in the dazzling brightness of the most intense bio-luminescence that I have ever seen.. It was hypnotic.

Sole, Lundy, Fastnet, names from a distant memory. We are almost across Fitzroy and already the seas seem to have changed. Gone are the great ocean swells with their wind blown waves. It feels like the short chop of wind against tide. Tides! When was the last time I had to worry about those?

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Entering Fitzroy

Struggling out of bed to take over the watch can be tough. We're not in the tropics now, and the chill night air is a sharp reminder. Gone too is the silent VHF radio. "What did you have for supper Mike?", "What colour is your spinnaker?" - As if they could see it in the dark! Yachts surround us. It's the return of the Azores & Back Race, and the airwaves sound like a Saturday in the Solent.

So it's back to warm beer and soggy summer days, Ho Hmm.

Now where is England……..

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The Hole in the Wall - Azores Style

Before the days of piped water, direct into your home, the stand-pipe and a bucket was a daily chore. The Fontana still exists in the Cabo Verde. In the Azores the last remaining ones have been demolished -well nearly. To preserve the last on Terciera, one local took on the local government. To ensure its survival he connected it not to water, but to a keg of beer. Now, for one day a year on the day of that streets bullfight, the brewer, Super Bock, connects up the beer - and its free!

The locals board-up their houses, and visitors, like me, are invited into their gardens, and onto their balconies, to enjoy the running of the bulls.

Standing on top of a 4ft high, 2ft thick stone wall topped with a thick timber barricade a further 3ft high, I felt quite safe. Safe, that was, til the taunting of one family opposite, irritated the bull who with one lunge, ripped away their boards, sending then running indoors for cover as he lunged at them again!

Anyone can run with the bulls, and the bulls will run at anyone. It's mostly the young men who taunt the bulls, each trying to get as close as they can without being gored. The bull is no respecter of age either. If you are out there - you are fair game, and if the bull picks on you, you have to move fast - very fast!

Even the young are encouraged to take part. Not in the streets, but on the beach. Young cows, still with big horns, charge at the kids who scatter before it, mostly into the sea, only to be followed by the beast. I watched from the top of the sea wall - 30ft above!

Tonight its our turn, the bulls are run around the marina.....

You can´t beat Sao Jorge Cheese

Whilst cruising, it is very easy to be seduced by the place you have stopped in - and your anchor grows roots. You make friends, the supermarket is "down the road", and there´s the "local pub"!


Luis came to supper onboard, then insisted we went for a beer. Sao Jorge is famed for its cheese, and we weren´t allowed to leave without some - the cafe owner, Jose Baltazar, insisted, and thrust a carrier bag into my hand.

Sao Jorge houses cling to the hill sides and cluster around the local church. Steep roads wind down the hills, linking farms and villages in a network of cobbled streets. We left at dawn with the Cory's shearwaters, their calls sounding like kazoos, carrying eerily across the still water. It was a full two hours before the sun crested the island and its full splendor could be enjoyed. The thick cumulus cloud nestling on the islands crest feeds the many waterfalls that cascade down the cliffs, their plunge pools the sea, but we sailed by, under a clear blue sky, with risso's dolphins, pilot whales, and later, common dolphins for company.

Terciera, the eastern most island in the archipelago, is the "big smoke". It's busy, and its very Portuguese. We have come for the Festival of Sanjoaninas - the bull fighting festival!

Spotted by the Police

The Azores, and Horta were gearing up for a long weekend. Friday, Monday and Tuesday were all going to be bank holidays. We had to move fast to get all the boat jobs done. Fast, however, is not in the rule book here, and it took a week to get the stitching resewn on the genoa, and a repair made to the kicker. We made full use of our time exploring the island and the interior of Peters Cafe Sport. We walked around the crater at the top of Faial's highest peak, and visited the site of the 1957 eruption. Thirsty work, so back to Cafe Sport!

Many of the boats we had left in the Caribbean were in port, so it was great to catch-up again. Inevitably though this would be the last time we would be together. Where most routes east across the Atlantic tend to lead to Faial, and Peters Bar, from here we separate. Our destinations are often far apart, but the friendships made are close. One day our wakes will cross again.

The sail to Velas, on Sao Jorge, was short. The small marina is enclosed by the islands cliffs. Cliffs that, after sunset, echo to the strange calls of the thousands of Cory's shearwaters that return daily to roost.

We didn't have time to clear in. We had been spotted by one of the Policia Maritima. I first met Luis in the Cabo Verde, then again in St Lucia, and other islands in the Caribbean, and, like all good village bobbies, Louis knows everyone. A beer here, a meal there, we chatted, enjoyed bands playing, the processions, and the festivities of the long weekend. Now everyone knows us too.

Antigua Classics Revisited

Pelicans, the lovely Rosa, and her fresh water pump, topped off by the steel band at Shirely Heights.

Return Crossing to the Azores

Sun set, sun rise. Night followed day, and the watch rolled around on its two day cycle. We settled into the routine easily. Part of the routine included downloading the weather information. Synoptic charts gave me a clear idea of the evolving situation. Grib files were useful, but carried their warning - they could be in error up to 40%. Thankfully we had the reliable support of Herb. Herb spotted lows developing before the Met forcasts announced their presence. Go East he said, keep south of 35'N.

How sound that advice was to prove. We ducked under lows, and listened to other boats reporting 35, 45, 48kts. Looking north, one big and stubborn low thundered and raged like Mordor (Lord of the Rings) violent red, then orange, with flashes of yellow - intense brightness illuminating the night sky. Thunder clouds rose dramatically to the upper reaches, venting sheet, and forks of lightning throughout the night.

The Miami Hurricane Office has now taken an interest in this Low!

We had some fantastic sailing during the last three days. As the wind moved behind the beam we eased the sheets, and enjoyed the ride. Rarely below seven, often well over eight knots, Avocette was romping through the seas, heading for Horta, on the island of Faial and the Azores.

Entering our nineteenth day at sea, I watched as dawn broke. The sun burst through below the crust of cloud that ringed the edge of the world, and Pico's silouette, 68 miles away, rose starkly from the ocean floor, 2000m above the sea - the Azores. As if in welcome the sea around us errupted. Dolphins lept, tumbled, and splashed as they called, welcoming us to the Islands.

Shearwters joined in the fun as the sky shed its stars and turned an unbroken blue.

It will be good to get in. The boat has worked hard, and there are repairs to do. As we close the islands, it's like watching an artist paint a picture. First the outline shape, then, imperseptably at first, the detail, then colours start to appear. The patchwork of fields takes on different hues, a little green here, darker there, a splash of yellow...Up above wispy cirrus invades the blue slowly forming little patches of mackeral sky.

It's nineteen days since we left Antigua and we have yet to tack! We have reefed, and shaken them out - many times.We have sailed around squalls and low pressure systems hundreds of miles wide - but never tacked nor gybed.

PS. Yes the beer does taste good!