Amazingly starlit evening at Puerto Castilio. Jupiter so clear and bright thats its moons can be seen with the knackered eye. Even better with binos. As we're now only at 28 or so North most stuff is in unfamiliar positions to our Northern eye. Anyway I digress. Call the hands 0430 but slow start. Pitch black. Squeeze our way out. Sea lumpy. Bloody wind on the nose. Typical. This part of the Canaries is famed for its steady N'ly winds. What do we get?. Bloody SW'lies...and fresh as well. This coast is a long and exposed one in this wind direction. We start a long and tedious day of motor-sailing-tacking. The land hereabouts is very dramatic. Great sandy seeps and dunes with huge volcanic backdrop. Little white med-style villages clinging to sun scorched rocky headlands. Here and there huge ugly anglo german holiday splurges of concrete and towel bedecked sun loungers.
The plan was to head for the Southern end of Fuerte, the cat's tail, and find shelter for the night before taking on the 60 miles of rather exposed open ocean between us and Gran Canaria. This would not be a problem in the normal prevailing airstream, but for us I saw problems ahead. Not that I let on to Min. All the advertised anchorages were exposed with a big surf running. The swell forecast was for 4 metres. The only nearby harbour, Morro Jable, was a commercial one. The scant information I had was that yachts could only use it if they had applied to a central government agency 2 weeks in advance on a special form. A not unusual procedure for some of the lesser ports in the Canaries.
We didnt have much choice, we would either have to run back up the coast or chance our luck to the harbour authorities. I was getting tired and night and darkness were nigh. It didnt help my state of mind that there were 2 huge ferries in the harbour rising and falling on the swell. Their tail ramps were banging and scraping up and down the slipways making violent bellowing sounds like those of huge distant minotaurs, leviathans, dinosaurs, and scary things of that ilk. Anyway in we swept on the entry surf and thankfully found ourselves some space amongst some raggle taggle pontoons of local boats. By heck was it bouncy though. The boat was dancing around like Michael Flatley dying for a wee. Hundreds of springs, chains, bicycles, bungee, tyres, warps etc would be needed to keep us within jumping ashore distance of our pontoon.
Anyway once we had recovered it was off to see El Capitano in the Port Offices. Briefcase bulging with every piece of paperwork on board. He turned out to be a pleasant and welcoming chap, and our fee was only about E11. Min thought he was a very handsome chap indeed, in his taut well tailored crisp ghardia theevil type uniform. In fact I was so relieved I even thought he was as well.
Off to town 2kms over the hills to the biggest Eurospar I've ever seen. Bulging with everything.
Really great meal ashore in the big dockside fisherman's cooperative cafe/bar/restaurant. Amazing mix of grilled fresh fish.
VERY bouncy night alongside. Much chafing, rubbing, and snatching. Up lots of times to adjust our bits. I realise these activities might seem a bit strange, but rest assured they were not the results of us inviting the George Cloon-alike Port Captain to spend the night on board.
Friday 4th Sunny and blowing with the odd rain squall. At least its 28 degrees. Awaiting a weather window for the crossing. Forecast for 20 kts on the nose with 4 metre swell. Going down later to 15 knots on the beam so I think we'll pay El Capitano a bit more and bide a wee while in our bouncy jerky berth.
TAFNF and TTFN. MB & crew on RAPAREE at Morro Jabel.
No comments:
Post a Comment