Cabrera
Juno
Paul and Caroline Frew
Wed 5 Oct 2011 19:11
The sun has dipped down below the hills surrounding us in our anchorage on
Cabrera and we are in shade. Across the bay the sun shines on the sixteenth
century castle that sits high up above the entrance to the harbour, now in
ruins but still standing proud overseeing the stretch of water that
separates the island of Cabrera from Mallorca, five miles to the North.
There are thirty boats in the harbour, each one, like us, has applied for a
permit to stay overnight, tethered to one of the orange mooring buoys that
dot the bay. The sky is cloudless and the water flat calm. It is 7:15 in the
evening and the temperature is 24 degrees. Voices from other yachts carry
across the water in the still air as people gather in their cockpits to
enjoy the warm evening. A motor boat glides into the harbour, observing the
5 knot speed limit; a crewman in a white shirt on the foredeck, preparing
the mooring line. As the boat approaches the mooring he uses a boat hook to
pick up a small red buoy which is attached to the heavy mooring line
anchored to the sea bed. A few adjustments and his work on deck is done; he
disappears below maybe to clean the galley or maybe he is the chef as well?
On Juno I am sitting in the cockpit with my laptop. Caroline is down below
preparing supper and the generator is grumbling away in the background,
charging our batteries. We rely on our bank of service batteries to run the
fridge, freezer, lights, water pumps and a host of other appliances that we
take for granted at home. Without the power in the batteries we would be
bereft of all our little luxuries so when we aren't attached to the shore
power we run the generator for two hours every day to top up our source of
electricity.
The sun has set now and it's dusk. Anchor lights at the top of masts start
to appear against the darkening sky. The slight swell in the harbour heaves
against the rocky foreshore, the waves slurping and sucking as they work
their way into the crevasses in the rock face. The island of Cabrera is a
national park, strictly controlled by the government of the Balearic
islands, limiting the number of yachts that are allowed in the harbour and
banning any forms of tourism on the island. As a result, there are no
hotels, restaurants or houses on the island. Just a single bar that sells
the ubiquitous San Miguel beer from a tap, tended by laughing locals who
seem to thrill in the simple remoteness of this little island.
Earlier today we launched our rib and motored around the bay in the
afternoon sun, sliding over the crystal clear water which acts as a lens,
magnifying the wildlife below. We see small jellyfish, hanging in the water,
pulsing as they draw their poisonous entrails behind them. Suddenly there
is a flash of grey and blue, accelerating out of the weed a barracuda darts
under our bows, seeking the protection of deeper water. We tie our tender up
to the small dock and follow the footpath up to the castle, scrambling up
the gravel path and eventually reaching the battlements. A tiny circular
stone staircase takes us up the last twenty feet to the lookout tower from
where we can see across the water to the busy port of Palma in the distance
and down beneath us Juno sparkles in the afternoon sunshine.
After the bustle and sophistication of Mallorca, Cabrera at first seems
rather banal, but now we have adjusted to its simple charms and the natural,
unspoilt surroundings. Lights are now dotted around the anchorage and its
time to silence the generator and ease ourselves into the stillness of
Cabrera, untouched by generations.
