39:58.446N 009:01.354W

44 Hours after setting off from Cartagena (at about 8PM UK time) , we should finally reach our waypoint off Cabo De Sao Vicente, Portugal, and turn Shangrila’s bow Northward, to head up the Portuguese coast, and ever closer to the UK.

So far on this trip, we’ve had the usual rate of attrition regarding mechanical letdowns and problems to solve once we reach our next (as yet undecided) port of call.

The charming autopilot ensures we stay on our toes, always ready to “let go” the moment your concentration wavers.  A particularly favourite time to test you to breaking point, is when you’re on the midnight - three a.m. shift, or the three - six a.m. when all you want is a bit of peace and quiet and some time for contemplation, the others are getting their well deserved rest, and then every thirty seconds or so a loud beep-beep-beep-beep shatters the tranquillity.

Mysteriously the engine start battery has boiled dry again, which indicates a problem with the charging regulator, which controls the amount and rate of charge from the alternator.  This is a big-ish problem, that urgently needs sorting out, but in the meantime, we have disconnected the battery, and use the domestic battery bank to jump start the engine.  All is not lost.

One of the rings on the gas stove seems to go out whenever your back is turned, but hopefully it should be relatively simple to sort out when we get into some calmer waters.

Other than these irritations, spirits on board are high, and with a favourable wind forecast, there is even talk that we might make it as far as La Coruna on this trip.  The wind forecast is for Southerlies that blow up the coast, which at this time of year is almost unheard of when the more usual is to for the trade winds to blow down the coast instead.  The long and short of it is, we have to take advantage of  this situation and make hay while the sun shines.

The unusual sight of snow on the mountaintops as seen from the sea

“Ooh, hello sailor!” Russell looking hard as he does his death defying leap into the sea during a quiet period.

Each one of these dots represents a ship on the radar, with us in the middle as we approached the Straits of Gibraltar at night.

This poor little bird decided to take refuge on Shangrila, and found its way into the saloon early this morning.  We ushered it outside and after a brief rest in the cockpit, it flew away.