Kayak on a Boat

My new fuel-efficient recreational vehicle.

After driving 350 km, I reached the port of Olhão at 2 pm. It was a hot day.

A "parking guy" pointed me into a vacant spot near the marina. I tipped him one euro. He smiled and reminded me to hide the GPS.

When I began pulling the Bic Bilbao on its rear wheel over the rough pavement, it made a loud rumbling noise which, naturally attracted another "parking guy" who invited himself to pick up the other (heavy) end. 

When I told him it was not necessary, he replied cheerfully: "Amigo, I have nothing to do except help people, that's all I have in life." 

Those words cut into me like a knife. Here I was about to paddle out to my anchored sailboat and this poorly dressed unshaven guy was hustling tourists to survive. He was not a drug addict working for his next fix - no, he was just another unemployed young man struggling to make it through life the best way he could or knew. 

When we finally reached the ramp under the blazing sun, I turned around and saw him all sweaty and out of breath, but still smiling.

He asked me if I was paddling out to the island. I joked that I was going to Culatra if I didn't sink half-way there

"Have a good trip," he said cheerfully and began to turn around.

"Wait," I interrupted, "thanks for your help...have a cold beer on me." I was ready to give him a fiver but realized that my wallet was already packed in the bag. I only had 1.50 euros in change in my pocket, which I gave him with an apology.

He smiled, "I was just helping you amigo."

The kayak route. This Google Earth shot was taken during a very low tide showing normally submerged sand banks. This is roughly the same route the water taxi took, as explained in my last post.

It took me about 45 minutes to travel nearly 3.5 km. In reality I must have paddled at least 5 kilometers - somehow I kept going way off course. I think it was the tide.

Jakatar was exactly as I had left it.

It was tricky standing on the boarding ladder, holding on with one hand and trying to untie all the knots holding down my waterproof bag with the other hand. Attaching a line to the kayak's front handle with a bowline knot was impossible using only one hand.

I got back on the kayak, leaned forward on the the skinny bow with line in hand and quickly found myself in the water as the kayak rolled over. Performed that stunt three times because I can be stubborn or stupid - you decide.

At least I practiced rolling the kayak over and getting back on, just like I'd watched on Youtube. Finally got smart, jumped in the water and tied the damn knot using both hands. There, problem solved. I still felt like an idiot, though.

Main street, Culatra. That's not Ana, and I swear she just happened to walk by, really.

Follow this "road" all the way to the ocean-side beach.

Food shop

My favorite restaurant, people-watching hangout, café, bar and free bathroom. If I pick the right table I can also keep an eye on Jakatar.

Funny how I was away from the boat for 2 weeks or so and didn't lose a minute's sleep over it. When I'm there, I keep an eye out for other boats anchoring too close and so on. Is this nutty or what?

Alvor to Culatra

Alvor is where you hang your sailor's hat, for a while anyway.

It has a lagoon, an endless pristine beach and a really long - I mean really long - boardwalk built on stilts over the sand dunes. Although it's 3 miles from Lagos and about 8 from Portimão (both with large modern marinas), highbrow boat owners tend to stay away because of the complicated entrance channel and because it's not posh. Let me give it to you straight - the Alvor anchorage is populated mostly by cruising boats with experienced anchors.

In town, the narrow hillside streets are lined with bars, restaurants and the usual tourist flytraps (sort of forgot to take pictures). The town is rather peaceful during the day and jam-packed at night, mostly with gringos from the United Kingdom. Maybe I shouldn't say this publicly, but I can't help notice that the Saxonic ladies have a thing about painted lips, low tops and tight skirts. On the other hand, I might be suffering from a solo sailor's ailment called "visual scurvy."

Best of all, Alvor has two dinghy docks and the water is flat calm - perfect for sleeping after a few drinks in town. Worst of all, the water is murky at low tide and there's no source of fresh water. There used to be a very convenient tap near the old fish market near the lifeboat house, but it was eliminated a few years ago.

Traditional boat taking tourists on a daysail.

The town has a small fishing fleet, and rows of wooden houses where the fishermen keep their hardware and take naps.

Headed for Culatra motoring along the "Faro Ria," a large shallow body of water enclosed by a huge sand dune running parallel to the coast. The sailboat leaning over in the background no longer floats, only it's deck is visible at high tide. 

The village of Culatra in the background. I anchored at a distance to reduce the odds of a close encounter while I'm away.

The ferry to the city of Olhão. The crowd about to get off will make a bee-line to the beach through the traffic-less town of mostly tiny houses build on sand and with streets the width of sidewalks.

Went to Olhão to check out the express bus station - good thing I did. Even after asking three locals, it took me forever to find it on a side street in the middle of town.

This is the last I saw of Jakatar. I hope it's still there.

The afternoon before I left, I made arrangements with a taxi boat in Culatra to pick me up at the boat at 9 sharp. I described Jakatar, its position and name.

"It has Peniche written on the hull," I told him. Everybody in Portugal knows Peniche, not to mention that I was the only boat from Peniche.

At 5 to 9 I'm all locked up and standing in the cockpit waiting when I see a taxi boat slowly meandering through the anchorage and finally roaring off toward Olhão. I pulled out his business card and started dialing, got the number wrong (I don't have a smartphone and the keyboard is tiny), then got it wrong again and was just starting to swear when I heard a voice.
"Bom dia." I had been looking at the wrong boat and the right one had coasted silently up to me behind my back.

Boat taxis normally blast through the anchorage like madmen. This guy took off in that fashion but then abruptly slowed to a crawl with his head hanging over the side. I looked over the side too and realized we were in knee-deep water. Curiously, I looked for the depth sounder but there wasn't one.

"Don't you have a depth sounder?"

"What for, I was born here."

OK, that makes sense. We made it, I paid him twenty-five euros and he spent about 3 euros on gasoline by taking the shortcut.

Sailing Slowly vs. Motoring Fast

My summer is a mess - well, not really. The boat is anchored in Culatra and I'm back home working on a Sunday...that's messy enough, I'd say.

Since I can't spare the time to write a proper post, I'll describe the trip with photographs. This is the leg from Sines to Sagres.

The dinghy doesn't look bad in the picture. But I can assure you that in real life it looks like garbage, the deteriorating PVC sticks to pants/shorts and, if that weren't enough, it developed a fast leak in Alvor which I couldn't fix even with three patches.

Notice the crusty stainless railing - soon I'll be writing a post about how I polished it to a shiny finish with a few brushstrokes. I'm not kidding. I'm very happy to no longer being doomed to spend many hours rubbing like a slave to achieve mediocre results. The product I used does not deteriorate the stainless alloy, but there's a trick to using it. I tried it last year and failed miserably. Live and learn. My rag-and-polish slavery days are history!! Stay tuned to learn how to polish stainless.

Sitting at the bow watching and listening to the hull slice through the water is mesmerizing until your bum gets sore from sitting on the teak railing.

My favorite activity while sailing. But I assure you that I sit up and look around whenever I hear a ship rumbling nearby, when I get thirsty or have to pee.

Anchorage in Sines. It has a good marina too, but I like anchoring. All the hat-like things along the beach are food and drinks stands and the box-like thing just to the right of the building at the bottom is the bandstand that emitted huge quantities of sonic noise until dawn, every damn night.

Saw less dolphins than usual, maybe because I was sailing mostly under 5 knots. The three pods that visited took a liking to the towed dinghy - they must have thought Jakatar was the mother and the dinghy was the baby.

Sagres anchorage. I was sailing into the port, turned the engine key and nothing, nada, niente, not even a click. Tacked out of there and anchored in this large open bay. 

Here's the culprit. A faulty power kill switch. Removed it and made a direct connection.

Pretty cool tripod for the camera and camcorder whose legs twist and grasp anything that's graspable. Very reliable. A bargain at 6 euros or so at Lidl. 

Alvor at low tide. Jakatar is in the background somewhere.

Kitesurfing in Alvor. I ran aground pretty hard in the channel when motoring in. The sand shifts from year to year and that's why I always enter or leave on a rising tide. I cranked the wheel away from the bank, kept the engine engaged in forward and the boat eventually pivoted and came free. Maintaining the engine in reverse would have been a mistake because, due to the incoming current and sandbar configuration, it would have kept riding up onto the sandbar. I'd need a diagram to explain it properly. Trust me, I'm an old salt and old salts know everything...even if we're wrong more often than we like to admit.

Alvor beach, on the ocean side. It's a fifteen-minute walk from town. I went for a swim and the water was nearly perfect.

Solo Sailing the Portuguese Coast

I ate a banana, raised anchor and then motored out of the Sines anchorage at 5:30 in the morning. Darkness was turning to dusk and an extremely loud rock band was still playing to a thinning crowd on the beachfront.

Don't ask me why I stayed two nights in this musical inferno, why I deprived my body of much needed sleep or why I drank copious amounts of wine to help me fall asleep.

Sailing past Cabo Espichel on the way to Sines.

Genoa only 3/4 unfurled to keep it flat and just short of the spreaders, otherwise it would rub on them.

So here I was embarking on what turned out to be a 14-hour sail feeling kind of groggy, but happy to leave a town I really enjoy under normal conditions.

I motored out of the large harbor, past some anchored ships all lit up, according to maritime rules, and then got hit by the swell. The last two legs (Peniche to Cascais and Cascais to Sines) had been amazingly smooth, but now I was rolling in the northwesterly waves with absolutely no wind to raise sail and steady the boat.

Motored for a few hours, got tired of listening to the Kubota burning up my expensive diesel and then raised all sail - that's three sails and the task takes some effort without self-tailing winches. I have a 44 m2 genoa as heavy as circus tent canvas and I need a winch to unfurl it in light wind.

Started out doing about 2.5 kt but didn't care because nobody was waiting for me in Sagres and the boat stopped rolling, almost.

There's a minor misadventure to come later in Sagres, but for now enjoy the video. Hey, don't tell my mother I didn't use a harness. At this point the sea was flat, but that's still a poor excuse.

Anchored in Sines

Sailing is like sex: a lot of foreplay and short ecstacies. After a long time of abstinence I'm at it again...sailing that is.

Left Peniche early on Tuesday, motored for 3 hours and then, when a bit of wind picked up, sailed to Cascais. Anchor down at 6:30 pm (44 miles).

Woke up the next morning and pretty much repeated the same thing - motored for 4 hours and then sailed the rest of the way. The conditions were nearly ideal; the sea was calm, the wind pushing us (me and Jakatar) at 2 to 5.5 knots. It was so smooth it felt like I was at the marina when making lunch down below. Arrived in Sines at about 6 pm. (more distance, but got an earlier start).

This is my second night in Sines. Guess what? They're having their annual international music festival and I'm anchor right in front of the stage. Before you start thinking "oh, wow, great," let me tell you that it's hell. I mean this is Portugal for Chistsake, an incredibly loud band was still playing at 5:30 am. No wonder we need an economic bailout.

Set the alarm to 5:00 tomorrow morning, so I'll probably be leaving the anhorage to the sound of guitars and bongos on fire.

Tomorrow it's a long haul to Sagres. Hope it's not foggy.

More details and pictures to follow. Right now I'm on my fourth glass of wine hoping that it will enable me to fall sleep. Hell, the band might as well be playing on my boat...it's that loud.



 

Are You a Boat Person

When I drove to Nazaré to sail back to Peniche, I left the Jeep at the boat yard. My original plan was to take the bus there the next day and drive back home.

But plans and boats aren't very compatible. 

It just so happened that Manuel was sailing to Nazaré the next day and invited me to tag along. I mean, what would you rather do: sit for 90 minutes in an air-conditioned bus with a flat-screen TV showing action movies or sit on a hot rolling boat for 5 hours? The answer - the real answer - is the litmus test that determines whether you're a boat person or not.

The added bonus is that I got to talk to a like-minded sailor for 5 hours. Funny how when two sailboat owners get together - regardless of the fact that they may have read a thousand books each, have all kinds of opinions about politics, and so on - will nevertheless spend 99% of their time talking about boat-related issues. Is boating a disease, or what?

This year's winter storm really walloped this beacon in Nazaré. Beware of the submerged rocks seen next to the wilting beacon. The light was replaced by the skinny metal one farther back.

To change the subject - which I always do in just about every post, a bad habit I must give up - the next day I had the pleasure of watching three buddy boats leave Peniche in thick fog.

For me, watching a boat disappearing into a cloud of fog really turns me on. Call me kinky, I don't care. Don't get me wrong though, I hate sailing in fog. Even so, there's something magical about watching boats being slowly engulfed by it on their way to some other port of call.

Leaving me behind...good thing because you wouldn't catch me in that soup without a radar.

See the flag, he's French...that explains it.

Working on a translation about a famous ship.

Sailing Home to Peniche

Thursday, June 27

It's dawn and I'm on the road to Nazaré. I've got a bag of sandwiches, apples and bananas and I'm hoping the IPTM staff hasn't gone on strike, like a lot of other civil servants. You see, the yard and travel lift are government-owned.

On arrival, I cleaned up the huge mess - piles and piles of stuff everywhere. The boat looked like it had done a 360º and disgorged all it's storage compartments. I gave the transmission and stuffing box one last inspection and hoped for the best.

At about 8:40 I heard a magical sound - a forklift - which meant somebody was working...followed by the unmistakable rumbling of the travel lift coming my way. Hey, I'm not ready yet, I thought. But they only came for the skiff beside me and hauled it off into the water.

I talked to Alberto and he said I was next. In no time Jakatar was dangling from two straps, Jefferson was removing the supports and I was right behind him slapping on some antifouling. In a wink we were in the water.

Going back where it belongs.

Once Jakatar was floating, I fired up the engine, quickly prayed to all the Gods in the world and shifted the new gearbox into reverse. It clunked loudly into gear, like it should, and I was out-of-there (it also clunked into forward just as sweetly and loudly).

I motored over to the fuel dock at low RPM's smiling to myself, remembering how the old transmission had gotten so bad it sounded like the devil rattling inside a tin box. I botched the first docking attempt - didn't get close enough - but got it perfect on the second try. 

Dove below and checked the stuffing box. Not a drip of water. I was so happy, you'd think I had just won a lottery. Gotta laugh out loud (lol) when I think of the peculiar world inhabited by boat slaves and the little things that make us rejoice. If I had anything other than water to drink, I'd have raised a glass and proposed a toast to all sailboat owners worldwide...at least to all the ones that get their hands dirty...the ones with clean hands can't join the slave club.

So I pumped 150 euros of diesel into the tanks (about 107 liters) only to realize that the fuel level barely went up at all - big tanks!

By 11:00 I was motoring out the port entrance and hoping for some wind, with the mainsail and staysail ready to be hoisted. I eventually hoisted the boomed staysail just for something to do, but ended up motoring all the way to Peniche.

Lifeline at midships. With a harness and short tether I can safely walk up and down the deck. Lifelines running along the edge of the deck are pretty much useless unless another crew member with a bit of experience is aboard. If you fall overboard attached to your harness, what in the world are you going to do? Die, that's what, because you'll never climb back aboard.

The boat rolled in a nasty crosswell that got a little tiring after a while. But hey, better a rolling boat than a static office chair.

Funny thing is I couldn't get the engine temperature over 65º C. I had also changed the antifreeze/coolant to a 50/50 mix as opposed to my previous 10% mix. Could that be it? Theoretically no. 

I realize that the prop and bottom were clean, but the temperature always goes up to normal operating temperature: 80º C. Another problem to worry about. At least it's better than an overheating engine.

Some sort of exploration ship near the Peniche entrance.

Sleek transient sailboat docked across from me. Notice the TV dish and other antennas.

If you want to know why I sailed back to Nazaré the next day, you'll have to read the upcoming post.