Log of the Island Spirit - La Linea to Arrecife

All ready for Sea

I always get a touch of the collywobbles a few days before departure. Thoughts like “what the f*** makes you think you can do this?” and “I’m getting too old for this.” invade my quiet moments. But this fear carries a bonus: it helps to focus my mind on the preparations for the task ahead. For tomorrow, after six months languishing in Alcaidesa Marina, I’m finally moving on to the next leg of my round the world adventure.

Farewell to the many new friends I made in Gib and La Linea, and my good pal Shaun, who remains in La Linea looking for a new direction for his life after having sold his Ocean Rowboat. I’m also pleased that my close friend Tricia managed to fly out to see me for a couple of days earlier in March. It was so good to see her again.

Tricia and I on the Rock

Whilst here I’ve had the engine serviced, a new mainsail made and fitted, a big new auxiliary battery installed, a leaking window resealed, and a gamut of miscellaneous repairs and improvements. I’ve replaced the worn-out mattresses in my quarter-berth, and added a luxurious topper for that extra comfort.

I’ve been out into the bay three times for sea trials, mostly successful, and on Friday I motored around to Gib and filled up with enough duty-free fuel to motor all the way if need be (paid £33 for 133 litres of diesel!). Weather conditions, although a bit short on a decent wind, look quite favourable.

The six months break in La Linea wasn’t without it’s negatives, however. I managed to stick a knife through the icebox in my fridge, rendering the whole thing useless, including the compressor. Had to buy a complete new unit. Then my bicycle was stolen from the marina quayside, despite having left it locked. The final misfortune (it’s said they come in threes), was when I lost my iPhone – dropped out of my pocket into the water in Gibraltar’s Marina Bay.

But the really upsetting event of last year was the death in December of my beloved eldest sister, Angie, after a valiant struggle with cancer. I went to UK for a fortnight to attend the funeral. I won’t dwell on the details, but her passing has left a big hole in my life, and her memory is never far beneath the surface.

My lovely sister, Angie.

Saturday, 12th March 1016

I stood out into Gibraltar Bay at 7am, two hours after High Water, into a calm, windless, predawn coolness, hoping to get as far west as possible before the tide turned. The current in the Strait is constantly eastbound, between one and three knots, so with no wind to help me along I can only rely on the tide to counteract its effects. When the tide turns it combines with the current, resulting in a foul tidal set that’s practically impossible for a small sailboat to negotiate. It’s a bit like rocket science really: in order to get into the “space” of the Atlantic one needs to escape the “gravity” of the Straits Current trying to pull the boat back into the Med.

First problem: my port navigation light is out, and it’s still dark. Need to look at it later.

0905 - 36 01.3N 005 26.7W. Course 240 Speed 3.5 kts.

Two miles south of Punta Del Acebucha, struggling a little. The engine should be giving me 5.5 knots, but that damn current…

I’m now just on the edge of the Transit Separation System (TSS), the usual stream of large tankers and container ships lumbering past well clear to the south. My plan is to motor parallel to them until Tarifa, then cut across the corner to end up in the “central reservation” where the TSS finishes. Still no wind, so my sails remain disappointingly redundant.

1145 – 35 59.0N 005 38.3W Course 255 Speed 4.5 kts.

Just cleared Tarifa, having changed my plan and hugged close to the shore to take advantage of more favourable tide and current. And it worked! I’ve outrun the worst of the eastbound set. The weather is persistently calm, with a sea like the whorled glass you used to find in old-fashioned vestibule windows. I’m now angled into the busy shipping lane, hoping I can get through a gap without needing to alter course. It’s a lovely day – for motorboats.

Tarifa - approaching departure point

1345 – 35 58.0N 005 51.0W Course 255 Speed 5.4

Great! Now I’m truly on my way into the Atlantic. Attempted to fix that port navigation light. The bulb seems ok, so I tried cleaning the contacts. No luck. This will add to the risk of night sailing, especially when I get my head down.

1540 – 35 53.0N 006 01.1W Course 225 Speed 5

At last, a light wind on the starboard bow. Hoisted both sails and reduced engine revs. That’s given me a nice close reach, but will need to motorsail until it gets a bit more legs on it.

1630 – 35 49.4N 006 05.2W Course 235 Speed 5
Engine off at last. Blissful silence. Now clear of all those floating blocks of flats trundling up the Strait.

A German F122 Class Frigate heading for Tangier

1915 – 35 39.1N 006 18.0W Course 210 Speed 5.7

Almost sunset – worried about that port light.

Just overtaken by a 75ft sloop with a huge multi-coloured spinnaker, name of Luchya.

Luchya on a glittering sea

Normally I would reef in the main about now, a wise precaution for overnight, but decided against it on this occasion. The pressure’s steady (1022mb) with a moderate sea and around 10 knots of northerly wind.

Full Foulies, but not for much longer

Pan-fried a small dorado, which I ate with a salad in the cockpit under a rich golden sky.

1950 – Sunset – Navigation Lights on. Except the port light, which in our case we ‘ave not got.

0105 – 35 17.3N 006 51.9W Course 240 Speed 5.5

With no shipping about, I dragged up my cockpit mattress and got some sleep. Still a bit chilly in the northerly air flow, so dressed in full foulies to keep warm.

Sunday 13th March

0800 – 35 00.1N 007 32.2W Course 225 Speed 5

Woke up to a steel-grey sea – getting a bit lumpy now but wind remains steady in the north. A calm, sunny morning with a light fuzz of alto cirrus. Running engine to charge batteries.

Don’t run away with the idea that I slept right through the night. I hardly got a wink due to endless swarms of fishing boats. As I sat eating my breakfast a familiar question flopped into my weary brain. I wondered again what elvish spirit drove me to this mad adventure. Tiredness and first-night blues, I know.

It was the early seventies, and I was on watch on the bridge of a destroyer, when the first faint hankering for this life came to me. It was blowing a typical Atlantic hooley with a vicious sea, waves breaking over the bow and walloping the bridge windows. The Ops Room had reported a small intermittent radar contact somewhere ahead, and as lookout, I was scanning with binoculars to get visual contact with it. Then I saw a sail bobbing above the mountainous waves, a ridiculously small sail, on a ridiculously small yacht. We were a thousand miles from land. The boat was being tossed about horrendously, and I, being relatively young and inexperienced, wondered how the hell anyone could be at sea in such a tiny hull, in such severe conditions. Fascinated, I continued watching this gallant little yacht as it disappeared behind one gigantic swell, reappeared again only to duck once more out of sight. By now I could make out a tiny, oilskin-clad figure in the cockpit. A flash of red at his back indicated that he flew the Red Ensign. British. The Officer of the Watch decided to give him a courtesy call on VHF Channel 16.

“Yacht on my port bow, this is Warship Glamorgan, Over.”
There was a short delay, and then a jovial voice answered.
“Warship Glamorgan, this is ???? (can’t remember the name of the yacht). Good morning old man, what can I do for you?”
“This is Glamorgan,. Just checking all is well with you, Over.”
“No problems here, thank you Glamorgan. Nice to see the Navy around though.”
The effect this brave adventurer had on me, sounding calm and nonchalant amid the fearsome barrage of waves, was profound, and I decided there and then that one day I would be him.

Now, as I watch the sea glittering in the late morning sun, like millions of diamonds scattered on its crinkled surface, I’m acutely aware that I’m alone in the vast Atlantic, out of sight of land and other ships. Mission accomplished? Well, at least, so far, so good.

Those pre-passage collywobbles are now a distant memory. Out here I feel calm and settled, totally at peace with myself and the world.

1345 – 34 36.1N 007 56.0W Course 225 Speed 5.5

Wind dropped away to mere light airs. Pressure steady (1022mb), sea calm with a long swell. Started engine, then added 20l diesel to the tank. Had lunch watching a pod of dolphins cavorting around the boat, and later, a pair of gannets diving for fish.

1530 – 34 28.2N 008 04.4W Course 225 Speed 6

Motorsailing.

1755 – 34 18.6N 008 13.7W Course 225 Speed 5.7

Mainsail griping badly, so decided to drop it for the night.

Monday 14th March

0117 – 33 54.7N 008 46.5W Course 235 Speed 4.4

(60 miles west of Casablanca – “Of all the gin joints in all the world, she had to walk into mine.”)

Clear of shipping and fishing boats, so went below to sleep in the saloon. Intended setting alarm to wake up hourly, just in case.

0639 – 33 39.5N 009 06.6W Course 235 Speed 4.5

Whoops! Slept through the night. Forgot to set alarm.

1004 – 33 28.9N 09 19.3W Course 235 Speed 5.5

Wind looking better. Hoisted main and genoa. Added another 22l diesel, then had to wash down the spillage after a wave knocked me off balance while I was pouring. Afterwards, stripped down to shorts and sat reading Pratchett’s Reaperman.

I’m now in the cruising groove – feel I can do this indefinitely. Bodes well for the 21-day transat later in the year.

In the Groove

1445 - 33 09.1N 009 39.0W Course 225 Speed 6.5

Lunch: A pan-fried chicken breast (sliced and cooked in a sauce to make it taste of something), with green beans and the last of my salad leaves.

Wind now becoming a little gusty and fetching up a bit of sea from astern.

Overnight under full sail, engine off. Up to now I haven’t been able to kip in my quarter-berth due to the engine noise. Now, peace and quiet to sleep in my own comfortable bed – luxury.

Tuesday 15th March

0600 – 32 06.9N 010 31.9W Course 223 Speed 4.6

Yes, slept through. On purpose this time – needed the rest. I’ve directed my course in a wide sweep to the west to avoid the main shipping route, so worth the slight risk.

By now I expected sunshine and wind – what I’ve got is cloudy stillness.

Another thing I like about being alone at sea: I can sing with raucous abandon without concerned neighbours calling for an ambulance – or the RSPCA.

0945 – 31 51.5N 010 43.7W Course 223 Speed 5

Breakfast of fried eggs, beans, bread & butter – lovely.

Another can of fuel into the tank – didn’t spill a drop this time. Funny how little successes mean such a lot. Now 228 miles to go, (46 hours). So currently my ETA at Arrecife is 0745 Thursday.

1340 – 31 35.5N 010 56.4W Course 223 Speed 5

Warm and Sunny. Trawling two hand lines in the vague hope of catching something pelagic. An equally hopeful tern came and sat on my radar scanner. With a tern on the radar, several amusing puns occurred to me (work it out for yourself).

Trawling in hope

1847 – 31 17.8N 011 15.1W Course 230 Speed 5.5

Recovered hand lines (no luck with fish) and turned into wind. Shortened main to 1 reef then resumed course. 180 miles to go. Party time. What that means exactly I’m not prepared to say here.

2021 – 31 11.9N 011 21.8W Course 230 Speed 6

As a fiery sunset burned up the western horizon a large flock of terns visited. After a time flying around me they went off to where another flock of birds, petrels, I think, swooped around something evidently of interest to the avian community. Then I saw what it was, as a great spout of spray erupted from the sea, and I quickly grabbed my bins. Yes, a whale, a humpback, I think. It was only up for a few more moments, then threw its great tail flukes into the air as it dived.

Wednesday 16th March

0139 – 30 56.4N 011 47.2W Course 250 Speed 6

Seesawing in an awkward following wind. Not a sailing problem, but sleep disturbed by the frequently flogging sails, hence the alteration of course.

Ok, so you want me to explain seesawing. Try this thought experiment. Let us assume that the true wind is ten knots from fine on the port quarter, and its force on the sails is pushing the boat along. Now clearly the boat’s speed will have an effect on the apparent wind, both in speed and direction. In this case, as the boat speed increases the apparent wind will reduce and its direction will creep ahead. This will spoil the trim of the sails, and they’ll start to flap, so the boat will lose way, causing the apparent wind to drop back again and increase. Thus regaining her trim, the boat will once again gain speed, until the whole cycle is repeated. In even moderate winds this repetitive flogging of the sails sends all sorts of strain noises down the mast and through the fabric of the hull, which, while not actually dangerous, is difficult to sleep through and not very kind to an old lady like my Island Spirit. A few degrees change of course to windward is the easiest way to alleviate this problem.

0835 – 30 42.0N 012 18.0W Course 215 Speed 5.5

The wild Atlantic! Huge rollers coming in from the west. Long enough to be not too uncomfortable, but combined with a serious fetch from the 22 knot northeaster, a bit rock and roll-ey. Needed to change tack to get back on track. Furled the genny, then wore through the wind to carry out a controlled jibe. Smooth as a good single malt.

0915 – 30 38.4N 012 19.6W Course 205 Speed 6

Engine on. Rolling like a pig!

1140 – 30 24.5N 012 24.8W Course 195 Speed 6

Engine off due to good strong wind, though had to alter course to avoid flogging sails.

1851 – 29 48.3N 012 32.8W Course 200 Speed 5.5

Planning a change of course at 0100 to head directly for Arrecife.

0138 – 28 14.8N 012 37.8W Course 260 Speed 5

After jibing, engine off – getting some kip before entering harbour.

0805 – 29 07.3N 013 10.0W Course 240 Speed 5

Lanzarote in sight, 21 miles to go. Breakfast.

Nearly there

1230 – Berthed alongside Marina Lanzarote, Arrecife. Job done.

Next Leg: Here to La Palma in September, then St Lucia or Antigua in November. Meanwhile I’ll spend summer in the Canaries, with some nice sailing to discover the other islands. Anyone fancy joining me here for a short cruising holiday, just let me know. Your comments below are important to me, so please leave one. (It won't appear straight away because it needs to be approved)

Click here to read the whole story from its beginnings in Greece