Log of the Island Spirit - Puerto Colon to Puerto del Gran Tarajal (FV) (via Puerto Mogan

Friday, October 7 2016
1710 - 27 46.1N 15 43.7W Co 144 Sp 4.2
People often ask why I chose the life of a sea gypsy, and, indeed, it’s a question I frequently mull over on my lone voyages. The stock answer is, of course, I’m living the dream. But that doesn’t quite spread the butter. One aspect of this existential exodus from ‘normality’ is the rich variety of experiences, and not least of these, the challenges of crisis management and problem solving that occur almost daily, and sometimes, hourly. But more on that later.
I slipped from Puerto Mogán at 1605 into a calm grey overcast, the wind light westerly, and presently motorsailing down the southwest corner of Gran Canaria, heading for Gran Tarajal on Fuerteventura’s southeast coast, an overnight sail of about 85 miles.

Last of Puerto Colon, Tenerife

Now if you’ve been following carefully, you’ll be aware of a huge gap in the narrative between this post and the last; vis, the trip between Tenerife and Gran Canaria. And why Puerto Mogán when I was supposed to be heading for Las Palmas on the northeast coast? Well, as some of you might have noticed in previous posts, when I’m busy dealing with calamity, the log goes by the board. Yes, reader, my trusty craft was struck by yet another misfortune. But before I detail the circumstances of those events, let me get back to my most recent stopover, and some of the less hair-raising features of this great adventure. After all, I don’t wish to deter any of you budding dream-catchers out there (hur hur).

Puerto Mogán is a quiet and pretty little resort; the marina area in particular, is surrounded by delightfully arched walkways festooned with overhanging flowers of dazzling hues. The clean, sandy beach nearby is overlooked by the usual medley of restaurants and gift bazaars. But it’s not as noisy and bustling as you might imagine, and that’s probably partly due to prices here. You can easily find yourself paying 4 Euros for a caña of beer, or even six for glass of wine. The food too is quite pricey, though the quality and variety of offerings are exceptional, with few of the usual concessions to the eating and drinking habits of overseas tourists. On the marina, close to where Spirit was berthed, is a quaint fish restaurant where you can eat todays catch within a few feet of the boats that brought it in that morning - but be prepared to pay for the privilege.

Puerto Mogan, Gran Canaria

Oh, and I had a haircut.

Now, if I say, “Dennehy’s Irish Bar”, what comes to mind? Yeah, me too. Now picture a fine restaurant with clean white tablecloths and sparkling wine glasses. Yes, there is a bar inside, but it’s a very posh version of what you might expect, with not too much sign of “The Craic”. But hey, they serve a superb Irish Breakfast at a very reasonable price, and their coffee is to die for.
For the yachties amongst you, however, beware. The marina fees here are amongst the highest in the Islands, and they charge extra for just about everything. So why did I choose here, with my severely limited financial resources? That’s a question I’ll leave for later. For now, back to the present.
For the first time since leaving Lanzarote, I’ve shaken a reef out of the mainsail to take advantage of what little puffs of wind we’re graced with. Right now there’s not enough to unfurl the genoa, but I’m expecting more lively conditions when I get around the corner. The overnight crossing is forecast to be quite energetic, that’s why I’ve left a reef in the main.
Hate having to motorsail, but not for much longer; I can already feel it getting up.

1945 – 27 44.7N 15 31.4W Co 078 Sp 4.6
Such fun coaxing her around the bottom of Gran Canaria; sudden wind-shifts, out genoa, in genoa, engine on, engine off, jibing, trying to balance sails for the autopilot, and hand-steering when it got confused by a chasing current. Nodding into a moderate swell, waiting for that accelerated northerly; any time now. Thinking I might have been better to sail south away from the land influences, but then I’d be faced with a hard beat back when it kicks in. No, I’m sure my strategy, and all this nuisance fiddling will pay off.

2330 – 27 47.3N 15 16.4W Co 076 Sp 3.8
At just after 9 the wind kicked in with a vengeance! One moment, nada; battering disconsolately into a steep swell, the next, kicking along in 25 knots on a beam reach, managing six knots against the swell and current with half a genoa and that single-reefed main. Again, an impressive performance from Spirit, but not so with the poor, beleaguered autopilot. However, she’s nicely trimmed with the helm lashed, allowing me to escape below from the goffas coming over the sprayhood. The combination of westerly swell and increasing current has slowed her down to barely 4 knots, but it’s still a bumpy ride, with a formidable heel to starboard. Glad I got that gut-busting late Irish Breakfast at Dennehy’s – won’t need to cook tonight. Hoping for less boisterous water further out. The bottom end of the Inshore Traffic Zone (ITZ) lies 15 miles ahead, so will need to keep awake until I’m clear – about 0200, I reckon. Cripes, she ain’t half noisy close-hauled in a gale; all that rattling and straining, creaking chain-plates and thunderous bow-smashing – thinking I should have left two reefs in the main.
At just before ten, a ship (Ocean Maria – the wonders of technology) 2 miles south, heading north on a collision course. As the gap closed with no sign of her altering, called her on #16 to make sure they’d seen me. Yes, they assured me, and would manoeuvre to avoid me. Still, it was a relief to watch his red (port) light turn green (starboard) and pass safely astern.

0312 – 27 48.9N 14 58.9W Co 060 Sp 3
Only just cleared the ITZ after having to bear away for the last few miles in order to cross at right-angles (according to the rules; you never know who might be tracking you ashore - the mixed blessings of AIS). Lost a bit of ground to the south, and can’t seem to coax more than 3 knots out of her, despite the continuing dash and din. When it’s like this, with great incomers over the bow, there’s only one place to be; horizontal on the lee banquette down in the saloon – it’s the world’s most comfortable place. I’m going there now, this time to sleep. And, dear reader, while I drift off into that half-dream state, listening for changes in the racket and movement, I’ll tell you what happened between Tenerife and Gran Canaria.
Very similar situation to today; rounded the bottom of Tenerife into the between-island maelstrom, with the prospect of a tiresome beat to the north. The first leg, close-hauled, got me to barely a quarter way up the GC coast, with the prospect of the second leg taking me into another of those pesky ITZ’s. By now it was 4am and I was exhausted, so I hove to ten miles from shore and got some sleep. Spirit heaves to very prettily, and she gave me a comfortable few hour’s rest, despite the heavy seas and howling gale. At first light, with no let-up in the weather, I set off northwest, hauling the genoa in as much as I could to get as close to wind as possible. Then it happened. A terrific bang as the straining genoa decided to part company with its sheets – the clue ring had failed, leaving the great sail with its tattered corner flogging free and violent in 25 knots. I was on deck at the time, so managed to furl it in before it suffered any further damage. But now I was in trouble. It’s impossible to sail upwind without a headsail, and even with the engine on, I could barely make a knot and a half into that wind and sea, and with the Canaries Current at full strength agin me to boot. So I had no choice but to limp eastward for the nearest port. And that was Puerto Mogán. My other fear was that the genny, with nothing to hold it in place, would unwind from the forestay. This would be dire, because you can’t furl in any more once the inhaul’s at the end of its tether. In an hour or so in that wind, it would likely flog itself to shreds. So, donning lifejacket, I crawled forward along the bucking, rolling deck, and tied a stopper around it. I can avow to that being a scary ten minutes, especially reaching up the forestay to get the stopper sufficiently high. Anyway, to wind up this tale, it cost me 150 Euros to get the genny repaired, a fair price, and done within 24 hours. It could have been a lot worse. Now, back to the current passage.

0825 – 27 50.2N 14 41.1W Co 065 Sp 3.5
The sea is much moderated this morning, and the early overcast seems to be clearing. The wind has dropped to fresh breeze. I slept well, albeit with several breaks to check on shipping and how well she was holding course (no autopilot, remember, just a bungee strap holding the wheel). I’ve just re-trimmed and come off the wind a touche, and managed to get her upto 4.5 knots.
At just after 11 the poor old girl just lost her way, I didn’t notice until she sprang upright and everything went quiet (yes, dear reader, I was back in the world’s most comfortable place, dozing). Anyway, we’d got in the lee of the tail of Fuerteventura, the wind abruptly dropped to 10 knots, and she lost the fine balance of her trim. She’d nearly boxed the compass before I had her under control. Now motorsailing to get to my destination before dark.
It’s warm, sunny, and calm. Time to get naked. Now I know many of my female readers will be drooling at this, but NO! You can’t have a picture. Private is private. I was, however, welcomed on deck by an enthusiastic pod of dolphins, ducking and diving gleefully under the bow, squeaking and cavorting around the boat for twenty minutes or so, obviously enamoured of my glorious physique. One even took an extra big leap for a better look.

Quite difficult capturing dolphins with a phone, but success at last.

1312 – 27 57.8N 14 22.0W Co 067 Sp 4.5
Now heading into a light breeze on a calm sea with a gentle swell. Lovely. For some these are ideal cruising conditions. For me, it’s about all of it; the fear, the adrenalin rush, the problem solving, the noise and feel of my sturdy boat battling in her natural element. And of course, gliding along on a gentle swell with the sun on my aging bones.

1510 – 28 04.3N 14 14.9W Co 060 Sp 6
That was exciting! A blast suddenly sprang up, and for half an hour we charged madly along at 6 knots; would have been faster but for the horribly short fetch into which the bows banged sickeningly with every wave. Played hell with my lower back. Then, as suddenly as it began, it just dropped away to nothing. Not a breath. These islands – so changeable, and challenging.

1915 – Berthed alongside at Puerto del Gran Tarajal.
 Read about that in the next post, when my journey takes me up the east coast of FV to Playa Blanca, Lanzarote. And, dear reader, please remember to add a comment or two below.