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| Sailing Goosewinged |
18th September 2016
1300 - 28 42.0N 13 36.9W Co 206 Sp 5.5
Finally got going at 0830 on a clear blue Sunday morning, sailing goosewinged* before a brisk north easterly. After six months alongside, the deep swell and awkward cross-seas brought a spell of queasiness, but I was over it by noon and loving the liberation of being back on the shiny briny. My only problem, the depth sounder isn’t working, which might be a problem for anchoring.
1610 – 28 31.1N 13 45.6W Co 215 Sp 5
Late afternoon saw the usual lull in the wind, so furled the genny and fired up the engine. A small pod of dolphins drew alongside and coaxed the wind out of its sulk, and six o’clock saw us skipping along once more, sails billowing ahead like a pair of pregnant matrons.
2010 – 28 13.3N 13 53.4W Co 255 Sp 6
I had intended to anchor overnight at the bottom of Fuerta Ventura, but without the sounder, and darkness coming on, considered it too risky, so onwards to Grand Canaria. Heated up a pot of chicken stew and ate in the cockpit.
2315 – 27 59.6N 14 14.3W Co 267 Sp 5.4
Wind gradually backed NNE and the sea beginning to get boisterous. Now on a broad reach with two reefs in the main and half a genoa, catching short, wet naps in the cockpit overnight.
19th September 2016
0820 – 27 50.8N 14 52.7W Co 257 Sp 6
An overcast morning, with the wind picking up as I approach the acceleration zones south of FV. Glad I shortened sails last night.
1010 – 27 45.9N 15 06.3W Co 277 Sp 9!
So this is the acceleration zone! I really don’t like going this fast, but with 30 kts of wind and fully shortened sail there’s not much else I can do to slow her down. Just got to grin and bear it. Precarious few minutes in the galley preparing breakfast, but no serious mishaps and managed to get my tea and wheaties back into the cockpit intact.
1510 – Anchored off Playa del Meloneros
Whew, what a cavalry charge! At least I made it here before nighfall; a pleasant little sheltered cove next to the port of Pasito Blanco. Hot and sunny now. A couple of other yachts have taken refuge here; got a desultory wave from a nearby British flag. After my swim and shower, cooked salmon steak and roasted vegetables, had a drop of scotch, then settled down for a good night’s sleep.
20th September 2016
1615 – Weighed Anchor
It was so nice here by the beach, and I’m far ahead of schedule, that I spent the whole day bobbing at anchor and well, just chilling. So now I’m off again, under sail but running the engine to recharge batteries. Sails fully shortened ready for the next series of mad northerlies whistling down between here and Tenerife.
21st September 2016
0315 – 27 57.6N 16 37.8W Co 298 Sp 6
Another maniacal dash overnight, winds gusting 35 and my poor old lady clocking up a terrifying 11 knots across the bumps. Now in calm water off the south coast of GC. I got here far too quickly, and now I’ve just got to amble up and down outside Los Cristianos until first light. Can’t sleep because there’s a smattering of fishing boats around, and right here, a risk of high-speed ferries.
0800 – Anchored off Los Cristianos
Too tired to bother with all that port entry stuff, so dropped the pick and got my head down. Finally went in at noon and tied up in the fishing marina, first having had to negotiate my way in with the Port Authorities. (They don’t encourage visiting yachts here and predictably the boatyard hadn’t told them I was booked in.)
After checking in with the boatyard (and discovering they had no facilities for visitors – i.e. no heads or showers) I went for stroll and a beer or two. LC is a lovely little resort grown around a fishing port and remains largely unspoiled by tourism. It has a roro ferry port, and a wide sandy beach fronted by lots of bars and restaurants. I ended up at an Irish bar called The Dail and got a warm welcome from Bernie, who gave me my first pint of cold Guinness on the house.
Next morning, we hauled out into the boatyard and they began cleaning off 14 months of gunge and barnacles. The two zinc anodes on the prop were badly pitted so I ordered them replaced, but apart from that, she looked in good shape.
It was only a skip to the beach, and there I discovered a handy shower, so for three days, a swim and freshwater rinse served my bodily hygiene needs. To save piling up a load of unwashed dishes onboard, I ate out every night on the seafront, sampling the wonderful variety of seafood on offer. I especially recommend the local mussels, served cold with vinaigrette, onions and peppers. At another Irish bar (The Irish Times) I got chatting to a charming young lady from Latvia, called Janya. And then there was Debbie, a bubbly English forty-something engaged in ushering potential customers into the pub. And of course, I spent time in the local Spanish bars practicing my Espanol. Altogether, LC proved a relaxing, enjoyable break; I can’t recommend it too highly for anyone wanting the quieter kind of holiday without the raucous flamboyance of the Costa del Let-it-all-hangout.
24th September 2016
1406 – 28 02.7N 16 44.3W Co 285 Sp 4.2
Lifted back in this morning with a bright spanking new coat of antifoul, and my sounder working again. I tied up alongside for a few hours, and while the batteries recharged, went for a swim and bite to eat. Not really wanting to battle into the fierce northerlies between the islands, I’m now making my way up the west coast of Tenerife – little wind to speak of, so having to motor.
1600 – Anchored off Playa de los Morteres.
No point wasting fuel – I’ll stay here until the wind picks up.
I have stumbled upon a secret. A narrow cove surmounted by steep slopes of sandstone overlooking a sandy beach, the singularity of the location is not obvious at first sight. But as you stare up at the cliffs, you start to make out the odd pieces of coloured canvas of ramshackle dwellings, and straggly figures moving about on the cliffside tracks. Then, what you first mistook for dead clumps of dried vegetation, turn out to be more dwellings; grass houses if you please. And the more you look, the more you see, until you conclude that here, hidden away from civilization, is an isolated hippy commune. Finally, your eyes are drawn to the hundred or so people milling around on the beach, and you realise that more than half of them are naked. German voices carry across from a lively football kick-about; wedding tackle swinging akimbo.
Finally got going at 0830 on a clear blue Sunday morning, sailing goosewinged* before a brisk north easterly. After six months alongside, the deep swell and awkward cross-seas brought a spell of queasiness, but I was over it by noon and loving the liberation of being back on the shiny briny. My only problem, the depth sounder isn’t working, which might be a problem for anchoring.
1610 – 28 31.1N 13 45.6W Co 215 Sp 5
Late afternoon saw the usual lull in the wind, so furled the genny and fired up the engine. A small pod of dolphins drew alongside and coaxed the wind out of its sulk, and six o’clock saw us skipping along once more, sails billowing ahead like a pair of pregnant matrons.
2010 – 28 13.3N 13 53.4W Co 255 Sp 6
I had intended to anchor overnight at the bottom of Fuerta Ventura, but without the sounder, and darkness coming on, considered it too risky, so onwards to Grand Canaria. Heated up a pot of chicken stew and ate in the cockpit.
2315 – 27 59.6N 14 14.3W Co 267 Sp 5.4
Wind gradually backed NNE and the sea beginning to get boisterous. Now on a broad reach with two reefs in the main and half a genoa, catching short, wet naps in the cockpit overnight.
19th September 2016
0820 – 27 50.8N 14 52.7W Co 257 Sp 6
An overcast morning, with the wind picking up as I approach the acceleration zones south of FV. Glad I shortened sails last night.
1010 – 27 45.9N 15 06.3W Co 277 Sp 9!
So this is the acceleration zone! I really don’t like going this fast, but with 30 kts of wind and fully shortened sail there’s not much else I can do to slow her down. Just got to grin and bear it. Precarious few minutes in the galley preparing breakfast, but no serious mishaps and managed to get my tea and wheaties back into the cockpit intact.
1510 – Anchored off Playa del Meloneros
Whew, what a cavalry charge! At least I made it here before nighfall; a pleasant little sheltered cove next to the port of Pasito Blanco. Hot and sunny now. A couple of other yachts have taken refuge here; got a desultory wave from a nearby British flag. After my swim and shower, cooked salmon steak and roasted vegetables, had a drop of scotch, then settled down for a good night’s sleep.
20th September 2016
1615 – Weighed Anchor
It was so nice here by the beach, and I’m far ahead of schedule, that I spent the whole day bobbing at anchor and well, just chilling. So now I’m off again, under sail but running the engine to recharge batteries. Sails fully shortened ready for the next series of mad northerlies whistling down between here and Tenerife.
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| Little Boxes, little boxes, all made out of ticky tacky, and they all live in little boxes, and they all look just the same. |
0315 – 27 57.6N 16 37.8W Co 298 Sp 6
Another maniacal dash overnight, winds gusting 35 and my poor old lady clocking up a terrifying 11 knots across the bumps. Now in calm water off the south coast of GC. I got here far too quickly, and now I’ve just got to amble up and down outside Los Cristianos until first light. Can’t sleep because there’s a smattering of fishing boats around, and right here, a risk of high-speed ferries.
0800 – Anchored off Los Cristianos
Too tired to bother with all that port entry stuff, so dropped the pick and got my head down. Finally went in at noon and tied up in the fishing marina, first having had to negotiate my way in with the Port Authorities. (They don’t encourage visiting yachts here and predictably the boatyard hadn’t told them I was booked in.)
After checking in with the boatyard (and discovering they had no facilities for visitors – i.e. no heads or showers) I went for stroll and a beer or two. LC is a lovely little resort grown around a fishing port and remains largely unspoiled by tourism. It has a roro ferry port, and a wide sandy beach fronted by lots of bars and restaurants. I ended up at an Irish bar called The Dail and got a warm welcome from Bernie, who gave me my first pint of cold Guinness on the house.
Next morning, we hauled out into the boatyard and they began cleaning off 14 months of gunge and barnacles. The two zinc anodes on the prop were badly pitted so I ordered them replaced, but apart from that, she looked in good shape.
It was only a skip to the beach, and there I discovered a handy shower, so for three days, a swim and freshwater rinse served my bodily hygiene needs. To save piling up a load of unwashed dishes onboard, I ate out every night on the seafront, sampling the wonderful variety of seafood on offer. I especially recommend the local mussels, served cold with vinaigrette, onions and peppers. At another Irish bar (The Irish Times) I got chatting to a charming young lady from Latvia, called Janya. And then there was Debbie, a bubbly English forty-something engaged in ushering potential customers into the pub. And of course, I spent time in the local Spanish bars practicing my Espanol. Altogether, LC proved a relaxing, enjoyable break; I can’t recommend it too highly for anyone wanting the quieter kind of holiday without the raucous flamboyance of the Costa del Let-it-all-hangout.
24th September 2016
1406 – 28 02.7N 16 44.3W Co 285 Sp 4.2
Lifted back in this morning with a bright spanking new coat of antifoul, and my sounder working again. I tied up alongside for a few hours, and while the batteries recharged, went for a swim and bite to eat. Not really wanting to battle into the fierce northerlies between the islands, I’m now making my way up the west coast of Tenerife – little wind to speak of, so having to motor.
1600 – Anchored off Playa de los Morteres.
No point wasting fuel – I’ll stay here until the wind picks up.
I have stumbled upon a secret. A narrow cove surmounted by steep slopes of sandstone overlooking a sandy beach, the singularity of the location is not obvious at first sight. But as you stare up at the cliffs, you start to make out the odd pieces of coloured canvas of ramshackle dwellings, and straggly figures moving about on the cliffside tracks. Then, what you first mistook for dead clumps of dried vegetation, turn out to be more dwellings; grass houses if you please. And the more you look, the more you see, until you conclude that here, hidden away from civilization, is an isolated hippy commune. Finally, your eyes are drawn to the hundred or so people milling around on the beach, and you realise that more than half of them are naked. German voices carry across from a lively football kick-about; wedding tackle swinging akimbo.
As dusk approaches, wisps of smoke begin to rise up from the beach and from among the clusters of habitations perched precariously in the cliff face. Twinkling lights from all around appear as night settles, and below, the wandering beams of torches from those camped al fresco on the beach.
By 0800 a breeze has begun to stir – time to leave before the tide swings me in to the beach. I wend my way gently up the coast before a weak southwesterly on a moderate sea. Several hours pass, but then, as I approach the northwest corner of Tenerife (Punta Sardinia), all hell breaks loose. The wind has suddenly shifted NE and gusting 25. At first I think, “acceleration zone”. Keep sailing north and get past it. But no, as I clear the headland I’m in a full-blown gale, streaking along at 10 knots, on a beam reach and battered by formidable rollers. Dark clouds race above, warning of worse to come, so as the wind speed reaches 30 knots, I decide to run before it rather than battle close-hauled into that monstrous sea. My destination is now the island of La Palma, some fifty miles to the northwest. Go where the wind takes you.
Once again the dreaded mareo is upon me, so, there being no shipping about, I leave her to sail herself and retire below to my bunk. For the next six hours I doze fitfully listening out for changes to the feel and noises of my creaking, lurching, madly careering boat. Only occasionally do I drag myself up to the cockpit to check for shipping, then stagger back below and crash gratefully once more into my pit. Oh why do I do this? You will note that I haven’t recorded my log positions for a while. Couldn’t be arsed to fill in the log, that’s why.
25th September
1900 - Alongside at Marina La Palma, Santa Cruz de La Palma.
Heavy weather hounded me all the way into the harbour entrance, making hard work of stowing the sails. Once secured and booked in, I go for a walk in the town and grab a beer and nosebag. By 2130 I’m back in my bunk sleeping the sleep of the just, and don’t wake up till 0900.
I have a niece who has bought herself a 31ft First, to learn her sailing on. I have passed the Blog address on to her, so if you come across a Julia Wood, you will know where she has come from.At present she sails out of Southampton, (lives in York), but as I hope to be moving to Weymouth in the near future I shall be trying to entice her that way.
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