Peek o' the volcano? Sadly not yet...
A year afloat: to the Caribbean and back
Sam and Alex Fortescue
Wed 3 Aug 2011 20:08
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38:32.12N
028:31.89W
We have moved, dear reader, to a new Azore: Pico.
After a day of furlough on Flores, admiring the wild hydrangeas and scrambling
through rainforest, we have stirred our stumps once more. Better to move while
the memory of two weeks perpetual motion on the Atlantic was still with us, and
before we put down roots. I think we moved on just in time, as the prospect of
endless free marina, water, electricity and wifi with great swimming and access
to a cafe with €0.50 coffees and €1 beers may have been hard to resist. A local
resto run by a German family provided an excellent meal of shark,
hydrangea-grazed beef and veggies from the garden, washed down with an
exceedingly quaffable white wine from a neighbouring island. What more is
there in this world?!
The run down to Pico was about 130 miles and we
accomplished it at good pace in a hearty southwesterly breeze that kept us going
at about 6.5 knots. By dawn, when I came on for the 'lubber's watch', Faial
was looming clearly to port, swaddled with dense looking white cloud. We swung
round the south of the island as the sun rose, and straight into a fierce chop
created by an opposing current, sweeping down from the north. Our speed
rapidly dropped to 3.5 knots, and it took three hours to cover the last 10
miles.
Cover it we did, though, and have joined a lone
American boat anchored in Madalena harbour, on the island of Pico, which stares
across a narrow channel at Faial. Apart from the sweet white-washed buildings of
the harbour, the island's chief feature is its 2,500 metre volcano. Said to be
Portugal's highest mountain, we have only the say-so of the guide as to its very
existence, as a thick crust of cloud lies over the higher land. We may have
caught a glimpse of the peak from a distance this morning, as it poked through
the cloud, but it was hard to be sure. Nevertheless, walking about the twon, you
have the disquieting feeling that something truly gigantic is just out of
sight, like a supertanker in the fog.
Today, of course, is Elise's birthday. Apart from
rewarding her with the midnight watch, we have been on a wine tasting tour of
the local co-op and are planning to go out for supper. The meal's chief
criterion is squid, and we have found a joint on the harbour wall which also
does cocktails, thus killing two birds with one stone. We will drink a toast to
absent friends and family in the island's rich, sweet white wine, then chow down
on fried invertebrate.
Tomorrow, we're sightseeing by bus, all the
island's hire cars being booked. I'm hoping we'll visit the whale museum in
nearby Lajes, said to have been the centre of the Azores' busy whaling industry,
responsible for processing 300 fine beasts a year prior to 1984. Happily, the
islanders now make more money out of whale spotting tours. There is another
museum on the island which hits the sealife jackpot as far as I'm concerned. It
is simply called 'whales and giant squid'. It sounds like the sort of film that
Tim Moule is keen on. I'll say no more...
Leaving our mark in the now-familiar style on
Flores
 Arriving in the cloud forests of Pico
  Tending vines among the island's lava
walls
 An unexpected touch of the Orient
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