Log of the Island Spirit (MMSI 235113215) - La Palma to Puerto Colon (Whoops)

Thursday 29th September 2016

Santa Cruz, La Palma
The old town of Santa Cruz was just as I remember it from three years ago when I came here with Colin Thomas on Summer Breeze; cobbled streets and Italienate houses, quant little shops and bars, nestling in the collapsed crater of an extinct volcano. The marina was almost empty, and those few boats here were largely unmanned, so not much in the way of socialising; but the four days waiting for better weather passed pleasantly enough.

Santa Cruz, La Palma

That weather appeared late on Wednesday, so, on a warm, sticky Thursday morning I took a last shower and got going. Left harbour at 1000 under a sun trying to burn through hazy cloud. Heading for La Gomera before a brisk north-easterly, and making 6-7 knots on just the genoa. At 1130, skipping along on a long moderate swell with the mist-shrouded volcano melting behind me, a pair of dolphins appeared alongside.

Last of La Palma

1352 - 28 20.7N 17 33.6W- Co 155 Sp 6.5

Salubrious sailing. Halfway-ish, the Autopilot up to its old tricks again; clutch keeps disengaging, so out comes my trusty piece of cord to tie it down. Will get it checked out in Las Palma, GC.

No other vessels in sight – AIS shows another yacht 12 miles ahead, also heading for La Gomera. Still a thin layer of cloud, but El Sol is gradually winning through. With the wind on the quarter it’s a little fresh to get naked – toyed with the thought of just slipping the shorts off, but dignity won through in the end; even all alone I don’t like the idea of trotting around the boat like a toddler waiting for his new nappy.

All land out of sight now; the only signs of life, the occasional solitary petrel patrolling the wavetops, and sporadic passing interest from pods of dolphins. This is the kind of cruising I love. The advice for downwind from a sailing buddy has proved useful – the genoa alone pulling us along at 7 knots is quite astonishing, and giving the autopilot an easy time to boot.

1500
Woohoo! Just hit the La Gomera Acceleration Zone, doing 9 knots, with the steep shelving here creating a tremendous overfall swell. Down below, while preparing lunch, a locker bursts open, spilling biscuits and cereal bars all over the saloon. No matter how many times I go through this, my heart is still in my mouth when she heals over and yaws violently to windward. The confused sea and formidable swell is causing the autopilot grief, so after my hurried lunch, I take the helm in hand.

1703 – 28 04.5N 17 22.0W – Co 130 Sp 5.4

Back in fair conditions following a crazy half hour. What happened? A sudden catabatic gust from the mountains caused a 90 degree windshift. Lost it for a while and had to let her heave to while I worked out a solution. Finally decided to wear round and heave to on t’other tack. Then, with the two sheets in one hand, and wheel in the other (autopilot had no chance), eased genny to leeward and sailed off – a neat little single-handed manoeuvre, if I do say so myself. (Careful Rothery, pride comes before the fall).

1800 - South coast of La Gomera

In calm waters with Engine on and headsail furled – no wind to speak of in the lee of the island. Motoring a mile offshore watching the rugged scenery glide by. High, almost sheer cliffs rise up to the cloud-cloaked mountains; layer upon layer of lave flows rise like precarious hill-farm terraces. In winter this is probably lush and green, but now, in the heat of summer, it looks like it’s been breathed on by the dragons of hell. Small clusters of houses appear from time to time at then bases of those towerin g crags. No sign of access roads, leaves one wondering how on earth people get to and from their homes. Even by sea there appear scant opportunities for a safe landing. One strking feature is the vast number of sea caves gaping at the shoreline.

La Gomera's Rugged Southern Coastline

1915 – 28 02.3N 17 10.4W – At Anchor

Cheers!

Dropped anchor in a little cove surrounded by formidable red cliffs. Time for a tot, then dinner. Tonight I’m cooking beef, sliced and pan-fried with onions and garlic, then dressed with hoi sin sauce. And with it, roasted vegetables and Canarian new potatoes. Yummy.

At Anchor

Whoops! Just came back topside with my whisky, and there’s an orange-skinned man standing on the rocks, staring at me. Can’t imagine how he got there – he must live in one of the caves riddling the cliffs. Maybe a hermit, or some sort of wild man. Orange skin though? Weird. Think I might sleep with the saloon locked up tonight.

The Wild Orangeman of La Gomera

Friday 30th September 
0810
Weighed anchor at first light – no sign of my orange friend.

The wind remains northerly, as forecast, and so as I emerge from the lee the wind gradually picks up. Today I’m heading for some downtime at anchor on Tenerife’s south east coast; a spot of swimming, reading etc. Only 38 miles to go.

0852 28 01.9N 17 07.5W Co 100 Sp 6.5
Yup, there’s the wind. Making nice progress on a close reach.

1030
Hello? That wasn’t in the forecast. Wind just dropped away completely, and what little there is appears to be backing towards the west.

1134 – 28 00.5N 16 51.8W Co 101 Sp 3.1
Now goosewinged before a half-hearted breeze. Five minutes later I switch on the engine. If the wind continues to change, my plan might need to as well – don’t want to drop the pick on a lee shore.

Sunday 2nd October
1645 – Puerto Colon Marina, Tenerife.
Well, I guess shit happens, and this time it was almost big time. As you can see, no log entries since Friday. Firstly, for the rest of Friday I was a little tied up managing crisis, and as for the rest of it, my heart just wasn’t in updating the Ship’s Log, let alone the Blog.

So, here’s what happened from around 1400. Because of the by now SSW wind, albeit not very much of it, I decided to revisit the Los Morteres (Hippy Commune) Beach of last week. However, I found the holding poor this time, so moved along to the next little inlet which offered more shelter should the wind strengthen. Then, with less than a few hundred yards to go, I noticed a change in the engine note. But with no wind to sail clear, and close to a lee shore, it was not prudent to switch off and check it out. Better, I thought, to carry on to a quick anchorage, and then investigate with the boat safely moored. However, as I rounded into the bay in 5m and turned upwind to drop the hook further out, the engine died, and smoke billowed out of the companionway. Only one course of action; drop the anchor now before she began drifting towards that suddenly dangerous pile of rocks. I let out as much chain as I dared, and then waited to see if she held. She didn’t. Slowly but surely we were dragging towards the rocks just a boat-length away.

There were only two other vessels in that anchorage. One was a stinkpot with a drinking party going on, loud music and observation skills in neutral. The other was more promising; a diving boat that looked to be packing up to leave. I managed to attract their attention, and bless their cotton socks, they chugged over to me. I shouted “Mi Motor esta roto” and they agreed to tow me to P. Colon. Then came another horrible moment, when the tow rope I had thrown them got wrapped around his prop while I was hoisting my anchor. He now had to drop his hook or he would have been on the rocks as well. So I held my breath for ten minutes while one of them donned SCUBA gear and went down to free the fouled prop. By the time I was safely in tow, I had barely half a metre under the keel.

My Rescuers - The Fellowship of the Sea

Puerto Colon is a private marina with no visitor berths, so it took me a little while to explain to the authorities that I couldn’t leave until I had an engine to leave with. Eventually they found me a berth whose owner has hauled out onto the boatyard. His name is Carlo, And he’s charging me 25 Euros a day to use his berth. Meanwhile, the divers who rescued me would take no reward for their trouble, saying it was all in the give and take of the sea-goer’s life (in Spanish, of course - I had to insist on buying them a drink in the bar last night).

So what, exactly, went wrong? Well, initially, when I heard the change in engine noise, that was when the impellor failed (a spinning rubber thingy that pumps seawater around the engine to cool it). I’ve now replaced that; however, letting the engine run on without coolant caused the exhaust silencer to melt, allowing smoke (and water) to belch into the boat rather than out of it. To make matters worse, thanks to some pretty unimaginative French boatbuilding, the silencer is in a place with no access, except perhaps by a small kitten with a Satnav, so I’ve had to cut out an improvised access panel in the bathroom coat-locker. I’ve taken out the offending article, and hopefully a new one will arrive tomorrow.

My Melted Silencer Box and the (not very neat) hole I cut to remove it.

Meanwhile, I’m stuck in what has turned out to be an extremely pleasant little holiday village.

Monday 3rd October

Hurrah! Engine fixed and running sweetly, thanks to Yogi Adam, the local engineer.

Yogi Adam, fixer extraordinaire

Ordered some spares which arrive tomorrow, then planning to sail early afternoon, heading south, around the bottom of Tenerife, then beating across to the top of Grand Canaria, and Las Palma. Winds forecast NNE 15 knots, to which add ten knots in the AZ, so looking like a lively crossing overnight.

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