Things that go bump in the night...
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Fri 15 Oct 2010 07:44
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41:11.12N
008:42.285W
Leixoes announces itself to your nose long before
it makes itself known visually. A delicate bouquet of petrochemicals develops
into a full blown stench of gas, which then slides downhill into the
unmistakeble tang of week-old fish. The harbour here is effrectively a massive
industrial port with a marina squashed into the corner. As if to prove the
point, we had to run the gauntlet of massive ships off the entrance, leaving us
to guess by their lights whether they were at anchor or not. Not everyone was
showing the correct combination of lights.
In fact, as we tidy ropes in the cockpit and await
to be assigned a permanent berth in the marina, we've just seen a largish
container ship being shepherded into the port. We were obliged to play chicken
with her on the way in because her lights were telling us that she was under way
and anchored at the same time. She has a large, angry looking rhino painted on
the side of her hull.
It was an eventful voyage in other respects as
well. We left Isla Cies two hours before it got dark so we could navigate out
through any shipping going in to Vigo and the everpresent lobster pots, which
are betrayed by little buoys bobbing on the surface. Unfortunately, the lobster
pots were still going strong as the last glimmer of sunlight drained out of the
sky, leaving us playing a bit of a guessing game. Was this or that shape a
shadow, a resting gull or a potential hazard for the propellor? We had lots of
close calls, spotting the buoys gliding astern in the glow of
our nav lights. But there was only one pot that we had to swerve to avoid
in more than 80m of water. We should be able to claim a lobster tax from local
fishermen...
Then there were the squid fishermen, who go out in
fast little boats equipped with very bright lights, which they shine into the
water to entice their catch to the surface. From any distance, all you can see
is a blaze of light, which periodically zigzags about. We had two or three of
them intent on steaming across our bows within shouting range. Fast, nippy and
hopelessly irresponsible, they are like the souped up Vauxhall Novas of the sea.
We also had an exciting 'Police, Camera, Action'
moment in the middle of the night. I'd been
watching a large container ship glide by about half a mile off our port side,
when all of a sudden a piercing white light appeared high and behind us. With
rising panic, I guessed that some huge tanker had stolen up behind us while I
was focusing on the other ship. The angle was so high in the sky, that it must
have been as large as the Titanic and so close you could almost touch the hull.
Then, while I was trying to decide whether to swerve to the right or the
left, the light swung away again and then dived to the left. A wide, bright
beam swept back and forth across the sea behind us, then came to rest on me,
clutching the boom and squinting. I realised it was a helicopter which spent a
full two minutes eyeballing us before flitting off in search of better sport. I
wondered whether it had been despatched to investigate the large blip that we
put on radar screens because of a clever black box we've installed. The idea is
that it makes us impossible to miss on the screen, and therefore harder to run
down in the night. Unfortunately it also gives us the radar signature of a
container ship, which can raise eyebrows.
Anyway, we've made it to Portugal and are now a
stone's throw from Porto. We'll spend the next couple of days eating salted cod,
or whatever passes for Portuguese cuisine, admiring the city and sipping the
local brew. Then it's on to Lisbon.
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