The Rain in Spain Falls Mainly on Us!

Whilst John got lost in Luarca, Gail and I tramped the headland around the entrance to Ria de Ribadeo.
Blue skies and warm shine made a wonderful change to the damp and windless days of the last fortnight.

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.

The winds remain very light, Biscay beckons, and we slip our lines for La Rochelle – in the rain!

After a 350 Mile Beat!

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.

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.



It started raining 50 miles out from La Coruna. It rained every day. Not heavy, just constantly!!!

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.

Time was running out.

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.



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.



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.

A 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.



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.

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.



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.
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!

Four days later there is still plenty of rain, poor visibility, fog, but no wind to speak of.

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.



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.

Avocette Sails West

We 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.

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.

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!!!
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.

To France, to Spain, and to the Azores. Adventure awaits.

A New Plan: OCC/Peter's Cafe Sport Anniversary

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.

4 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.

Earlier this year the BBC asked me to help out...
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b07cvg9p/storm-troupers-the-fight-to-forecast-the-weather-episode-1

Photos to follow.....

Three Men in a Boat

A 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.

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.

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.

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.



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.

Progress was good. We gel as a team. Competition in the galley hots up.



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.



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…...



The sun is shining, the breeze a little cooler. We pass Portugals only offshore ‘windfarm’, it’s single turbine turning slowly in the wind.



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.