That’s Spain done, now onto Portugal
Knotty Girl
Tanya/Roberto
Wed 17 Jun 2020 20:20
41:03.3N 9:07.8W What a difference 24 hours can make. With gentle winds of 11 knots behind us, the current in our favour and our beautiful red spinnaker filled with wind, we are speeding along at 7 knots with all memory of the crossing forgotten. Well, nearly. Speaking from experience, sea sickness is better prevented than treated once it has surfaced. Medication can help but in choppy conditions it’s also important to minimise time “down below” other than lying down sleeping - or as Alastair explained yesterday, trying to sleep. The challenge arises in trying to reconcile not spending much time getting from cockpit to bunk with the fact that every day-to-day task takes longer. Brushing your teeth - expect your head to bash into the vanity unit mirror at least three times unless you want to get toothpaste on your feet. If you are unlucky you will lurch backwards against the bathroom door and the door handle will find the small of your back with a thwack, precisely aligning with the same spot you bruised yesterday. Getting a saucepan from a galley cupboard - first wedge both feet firmly on opposite sides of the galley, then open the cupboard door prepared for the boat to heel over at that precise moment and the contents to fall out on the floor, spend the next five minutes chasing the items around the galley floor or if you are lucky pushing them back in the cupboard while you take a breath, try to think about anything other than feeling sick, and plan a new strategy. Finally after a couple of attempts you have your saucepan in your hand although by now you feel like anything but food. Now it’s time for true faith - you have to trust the gimble on the stove. The stove and oven are hinged around a central pivot point so that while the boat heels from side to side, the stove stays roughly horizontal. Except it doesn’t look like that to you, from your field of reference which is the boat, so you stand close enough by in case you need to catch a pan of boiling water sliding across the stove. You never have to intervene, but by now you’ve spent way too much time below deck to feel like anything other than lying down again and you wonder why you ever thought of boiling water in the first place. Which explains Alastair encountering hilarity when hoping for a cup of tea on night watch. Rounding Cape Finisterre at night, we turned south and the motion of the boat eased, and with it our memories of seasickness. Our speed picked up, no longer slowed down by each oncoming wave. Closer to land, the fishing boats were out and the fun started. Most vessels we encounter broadcast their position through the “AIS” (Automatic Identification System) which tells us of their existence, speed and course, and rather usefully whether we are on a collision course. If we are, then the rules of the sea come in as to who gives way to who and it all gets a bit technical. In practical terms, if the vessel is a 120m long tanker bearing down upon you, regardless of it’s obligation to give way to you, you might decide the prudent thing to do is to give a bit of ground - or sea - rather than worry about technicalities that could have rather painful consequences. However, although AIS is common it is not yet universal and of course it’s sod’s law that the vessels that are less likely to have it - small fishing vessels built mainly of wood - are less likely to be seen on a radar screen too. So we spent the night peering into the darkness - the waning moon is most helpfully rising at around the same time as sunrise at the moment - looking for faint flashing lights and watching like a hawk. All good fun to while away the hours of darkness when most good folk are in their beds. But with the beauty of the early dawn so our coastal conclusion to our Bay of Biscay passage was coming to an end, and Baiona was beckoning. We could see it in the distance - magnificent fortifications on a hillside, quaint houses nestled in the valley, and a hideous tower block monstrosity that some town planner should be shot for allowing to happen. As we approached Tanya radioed ahead in fluent Spanish - with four languages under her belt there is no need for Google Translate on a passage on Knotty Girl - requesting advice as to where in the marina we should berth. “You cannot come, we are closed because of coronavirus” came the response. Notwithstanding all the calls Roberto had made, the confirmation, the reservation… With politeness and patience she worked through the road blocks (boat blocks?) in our way and as the working day started we were tying up on the pontoon. Roberto is skipper but the wind is still our master and a good skipper listens to the changing wind forecast. So after a quick re-provisioning (one of us was allowed ashore), washed the caked-on salt from the deck of Knotty Girl, attended to a few other items and …. bliss… had a shower without needing one hand to hold on - and then after only a couple of hours break we were on our way again. The Straits of Gibralter have a favourable wind forecast if we depart today; if we’d waited longer we would have had to wait in Cadiz for a few more days. As it is, we are still on schedule and may even get a little bit more time in the Med than originally planned… more time in the sunshine can’t be a bad thing. So in Alastair’s words, we have “done Spain today, now on to Portugal” so follow us tomorrow to find out what’s next. |