A Winters Break

Leaving Avocette swinging gently on her home mooring, I headed off to the airport. As the aircraft was a small Dash-8, I was travelling light, and had left my own skis at home. A short flight was followed by an even shorter transfer up into the mountains.

The small mining town of Schladming, in Austria, home to the Alpine World Ski Championships 2013, was also to be home to us for the first week of January. Christmas had seen big dumps of snow, but the New Year had brought a thaw.



The snow at the top was OK, a bit Spring like - sugary, and I was trying some short skis that turned very quickly. Great fun, a few tumbles - time for a gluhwein.

Now the snow was receding up the mountain - fast! The melt-waters had turned the mountain stream into a maelstrom of raging white water. What we needed a big dump........Hmm!!



I'm very impressed with the Austrian Hospitals! EHIC checked and accepted, an x-ray followed by a CT Scan, and my skiing was over for the week - torn ligaments in my wrist.

Frustratingly,as we drove back to the airport to go home it was snowing hard. Fresh powder everywhere! But it was all too late.



Five weeks later, the cast is cut off, the physio begins, and Avocette needs a scrub, an anti-foul, and polish......... Any volunteers?

Job Done

Slipping out of the Ria Arousa the forecast 4-5m swell lifted us, and the NW wind pushed us. Heading south we passed the River Minho, and crossed the border from Spain into Portugal. Stars littered the night sky, the sun lit the day, onwards we rolled south. Passing Lisbon the wind died. The engine sprung to our assistance, pushing us onwards, soon the Light of Cape St. Vincent led us round the corner, and onto the Algarve, and so we tied up in Lagos, our journey done, and Wandering Dream nudged onto her new berth.

With VAT at 23% there's more than a little unrest in the country, and everyone's on strike. No planes home then! Better have another beer.........

Fresh Fish & Tapas

Rounding the rocky island that guards the entrance to the Ria Arousa, the warm air falling from the mountains, we dipped and dived through the fishing boats, and wound our way up to the town of Vilagarcia and its friendly welcome.

Smiling faces greeted us, and with the beer came the tapas - and only a euro a time! The problem was with every beer,or wine, more tapas. Even in the cafe at ten in the morning when you order a tea, or coffee, it comes with orange juice and a cake or croissant!

A visit to the market is a must. The food is so fresh, and compared to England, cheap. The big difference was the enourmous variety, and just how fresh it all was. So fresh that the shrimps, prawns and langoustine were all still alive.

Black

It was black, very black. The sky above was inky too – lit by a myriad of twinkling lights. Plosh, flip, slap -the blackness alongside was being carved-up. We were crossing the continental shelf. First a few then more. And more, then more. From all directions they came. Ten? Twenty? Fifty or more? I don't know, but dolphins, then porpoises, came out of the blackness to play. Their ghost-like silhouettes streaking through the water, a trail of bioluminescence erupting in their wake. They arrived just before my watch started, and left after it had finished, four hours later

The winters dawn broke slowly. The back sea turning a steely blue, reflecting the sky above. Slowly the eastern horizon turned a burnished brass, through gold, to welcome the burning orb as it rose to proclaim the day, and a school of porpoise joyfully flipped by, and pilot whales ambled past on a reciprocal course.

We had waited a week for this weather window. Gale after gale had targeted the English Channel bringing SW 7-8 and big seas crashing against the Brest Peninsula. Sheltered in the sleepy Breton port of Camaret we missed the worst. Windy, yes, but often blue skies, allowing us to enjoy the Ile de Crozon, as the area is known.

Moule & frites, followed fabulous fish dishes, not to mention the occasional glass, all enjoyed in the company of new sailing friends. A couple from the US regaled us with tales and photos of their trip in a 30ft boat, via Greenland, icebergs and Iceland; and the Chileans, with their stories of Cape Horn and Puerto William, their home port, encouraging us to visit Chile. In return we shared our experiences on the passages south from here to the Cabo Verde, and the Caribbean – their destinations, on their way home.

Leviathans from the deep guided us around the “Coast of Death”, as this corner of Galicia is known,. As I climbed into my bunk the sounds of the deep penetrated the hull. The frantic clicks , echo location, of the dolphins, and the song of a whale somewhere below, sent me to sleep.

A "Valiant" Arrival

Having sailed from the Solent to Dartmouth in what was frequently gale force wind. Then endured a bitterly cold and wet day on the Dart, we listened with anticipation to the Met forecast for Sunday.

There were warnings of gales in Dover Wight Portland and Biscay (and the rest of the UK), but not Plymouth! We scoured the internet for more information – they all suggested the same – NE 5/7, backing N or NW 6/7, becoming 3/4 later. So we sailed!

The sky was blue and sunny, but still very cold. With two reefs in the main and a poled out jib we aimed at Ushant and romped across the channel at 7 – 8 knots, often surfing at up to 10. Night came early but the moon was full and bright. As the clouds scudded across the sky we surfed the waves below. The first light of dawn found us heading down the Channel du Four. By lunchtime the fleeces were off; we were sat in the sun having a beer.

Footnote: Good to find “Valiant” looking good and proudly flying her PSC burgee.

A Wandering Dream.....

The summer was wet and windy. Autumn looks set to continue the same. Now as the cold polar air gets sucked down by the passing depressions it's just getting colder!

Nothing much changes.... or does it? Sitting on the Folkboat “Mistress” during Folkboat week a month or so ago, I was delighted to see my old friends Alan and Jo on Wandering Dream, a Rival 38, quietly nosing up to the quay. I had first met Alan at Palmeira, on the Island of Sal in the Cape Verdes. He and Jo became good friends as we later cruised in company up through the Caribbean.

Friendships renewed, all it took was a phone call. It didn't take much to persuade me!

So it was that with the forecast of wind East force 6 to gale force 8, showers rain later, we slipped from the club pontoon aboard Wandering Dream, destination Lagos, Portugal.....and sunshine!

The tide swept us west, past the Needles, then Weymouth (the sailing venue for the Olympics), and into Lyme Bay. As darkness fell so did the rain, squally gusts of 33+ knots chased us down channel. We surfed the waves under double reefed main and a pocket hanky sized jib. Enough was enough – we hung a left and tied-up in Dartmouth for the rest of the night.

Strong Winds and a Leaky Boat

The plan: Because of other commitments, sail down to Yarmouth on the Sunday. This meant missing race one. Not a good start to a regatta, but hey-ho.

An early morning call form Colin, friend, and the Folkboats' owner, alerted me that plans are only valid til first contact with the enemy.

"The boats full of water. We need to put her on the slip."

We emptied the boat, washed out the insides, dried the bunk cushions, and mended the electric pump - we thought! We finally arrived in Yarmouth at 2230hrs, secured alonside, and nipped into the Kings Head for a quick pint.

Now folkboats, are wet boats to sail, especially in a gusty F6.

"Why's that lifejacket inflated?" cried Colin.

Sticking my head into the saloon the answer was obvious - we were full of water. The bunks were soaking, so were our sleeping bags, and my bag with all my clothes for the week was sat in three inches of sea water! I pumped, Colin pumped, but we were in the lead. Confusion over marks, and we ended up with a forth. Next race was better - we won.

Following a night sleeping on the boards, with cushions drying on the pontoon, and our formal wear drying out in the RSYC, we headed out to the start, the new bilge pump squirting continously over the side. As we rounded the final mark and hardened-up to cross the line there were two loud retorts; the first was the kicker exploding, the next was the finish gun - we were first.

Heave-to, a quick repair, and we'll be ready for the next start - except a lobster-pot had other intentions and slipped along the keel to wedged itself firmly between the keel and rudder. The lads on the mark laying boat cheerfully came alongside, offered advice, and hacked at the taught ropes as we hung in the strong spring tide.

Eventually we were free of the bottom, but still with ropes wrapped around the rudder and prop. Towed to another pot-marker, we used it as a mooring, while Colin swum around (owners privilege) clearing the mess. Back on board, a gust of wind veered, and silently we slipped over the "mooring" pot-line wedging it firmly in the same place! Deja vu. Another swim, and we were free. Just in-time to make the delayed start. Good tack-ticks and another first. A good day on the water: a lot of jokes at our expense, back on the dock! But we weren't finished yet....

Following the lay-day, we headed out for the start line, bit between the teeth.

Cutting across the 4knot spring tide, spinnaker billowing, we headed for the turning mark, layed amidst others, just out of the main tide on the Island shore. For the second time the kicker exploded, a chinese gybe and we just sailed to windward of a buoy - but the spinnaker sailed over it, and the sheet snagged the top-mark,the boat heeled, the loads increased. Something had to break. With a bang the foot of the spinnaker parted, the sail ripped in half, and we heeled over again before the head of the sail parted, and we shot-off, down wind and tide, to round the mark and take the gun for 2nd place.

Two more firsts on the penultimate day put us firmly in first place over-all, and we sealed it with another gun on the final race.

It had been a great regatta. The Royal Solent Yacht Club had been perfect hosts, Lymington Yacht Haven generous sponsors. Great racing was followed daily by lively socials. Even the Tot Club was in on the act, inviting all to join in on the Friday evening.

Would I do it again? Definitely, best regatta I have done in years.