�� The 4am start was early enough for me but Si
had been up half the night unable to sleep in the rolly seas. We were on our
way shortly after with the loom of the lights from Gran Canaria just on the
horizon 50miles away. Las Palmas is a huge and
obviously bright city with apparently the second busiest port in Spain. We had a
cracking sail with a strong breeze just forward of the beam and flew along so
quickly we were dodging a queue of ships entering Las Palmas by 12.30pm. A sea of ARC
flags fluttered from the cross trees on boats spread around the massive marina.
Si was gone � hour checking in at the office so luckily there was plenty to
keep me busy. A dinghy pulled a loggerhead turtle from a tangled fishing net
and plonked it outside the office. A security guard poured water round its neck
until staff from an aquarium came and collected it. The usual washing up then
stowing of lifejackets, lifelines, binoculars, torches, winch handles etc took
another half an hour and eventually Si emerged with armfuls of paperwork.
�� Next stop the fuel dock where a too tight
for comfort gap was left between the bow sprit of an old Swedish naval training
boat and a rather large and very shiny superyacht topping up its tanks with
2000 litres. With a promise of a departure within the hour we planned to go
back to the reception dock, but now it was full. We circled slowly round in, as
luck would have it, a nice open area in the middle of the marina while waiting
for a space somewhere to become vacant. Some time later from the Texaco shop
out came none other than the world famous Don Pedro � well known for his
ability to solve all problems arising with passing sailors. Despite our
expressions of concern, he would not take no for an answer and instructing us
to head straight for the dock I threw him the bow line which he pulled in
between the superyacht and the pontoon: The yacht crew held their breath: My
heart was jumping out of my chest. I only hoped he would be able to pull our
stern in. I climbed over the guardrail ready to leap ashore as soon as I was
able, but the flat of his hand was raised, �No necessario Senora�, he said and
aided by his mate who strolled over we were in. Phew!
�� Berthing stern-to in our allotted berth
didn�t go quite so smoothly. The channels were narrow and no-one answered when
I called out to ask where no.15 was. As we approached one of two gaps on the
pontoon there were suddenly people everywhere to help. I threw stern lines to
marina staff then grabbing the pick-up line ran it down to the bow. I pulled
and I pulled but there was no way I was pulling us straight. Si left the helm
and tried pulling too while a group of Norwegians kindly prevented our
Hydrovane from being crushed against the pontoon. The Danes next door moved
fenders as we drifted sideways. We eventually tied our bow to our neighbours
while the marina staff disappeared to fetch a RIB then commenced a lengthy
session of rope pulling in all directions. Still it didn�t reach our cleat. We
tied a mooring line through it and tied up as best we could then found out
later it had been broken for weeks and everyone coming in had problems. Not a
good landing.
�� Only then could we breath deeply and realise
we had just completed the first stage of our adventure. Home for the next two
and half weeks is R pontoon which is mostly inhabited by Norwegians. The
permanent berth holders have to leave for the next two weeks but others among
the ARC boats I�ve seen so far on �R� are Italians, Shu our Irish friend from Madeira, a Czechoslovakian and Danes to starboard. Many
other ensigns fly from other pontoons with a record 32 nationalities
participating this year. ARC flags fly all round the marina although nothing
officially starts until Monday. We are all moored stern-to the pontoon with
only a fender width between the boats so it all feels rather claustrophobic
after spacious anchorages. By each boat there are rows of shoes (cockroach eggs
get in your soles apparently) with lots of bicycles lent against electric
boxes. Everyone is very busy preparing for safety checks next week and
generally doing maintenance jobs.
�� Meals times went a tad squiffy today with
breakfast at 5am and lunch at 10.30am. It was now the middle of the afternoon
and it felt like dinner time. We mulched down in the cockpit in the baking
afternoon heat with ice cold beer and nibbles to tide us over until a
reasonable meal time. Reading
through the tourist information and ARC welcome pack and manual was all very
exciting. I�d read through the manual months ago but now it suddenly seemed
relevant; I could see the road I�ll have to turn off to get to the produce
market for provisioning and see Don Pedro�s famous fuel dock. Fighting the
fatigue we chose to resist an afternoon nap and retire after an early dinner
which we ate while others were still enjoying sundowners with friends. What a
joy to have a sheltered berth and sleep at night.
�
