Sailing Home Blues

I bought a bus ticket back to Olhão where a water taxi (25 euros) ferried me back at break-neck speed to Jakatar, anchored just as I had left it, except for some new neighbors.

I had planned on going ashore to Culatra for a cold beer. Instead, I was struck by an attack of laziness and a deep desire to basically stare at my toes - again. I brought the mat and pillows into the cockpit and thoroughly enjoyed doing nothing and thinking nothing, to the extent that I couldn't even be bothered to get a second glass of wine.

Early the next morning I raised anchor to a weird surprise (I never take pictures of weird or exciting stuff because I'm an amateur blogger). Anyway, with no wind and no tide the chain came in fairly easy until the chain was totally vertical. Then it wouldn't budge an inch.

"It's really buried" I muttered to myself, switching the handle to the low gear on the windlass. Had do do some grunting to break it free and get it up ever so slowly. Then I saw a huge mass of weed thick as a tree break the surface.

The huge blob on my chain was way too thick to hump over the bow roller. I leaned over the bow with a serrated knife and started hacking at the weed that, as I quickly discovered, was concealing a big tangle of nylon lines.

Hell, I could hardly see the anchor. I started cutting like crazy, pulling in the chain as I cleaned it and occasionally checking whether I was drifting onto nearby boats, finding it strange that I remained in the exact same spot. When I finally reached the anchor, I could see that it had impaled a lobster pot attached to more taught lines still stuck on the bottom. I dispatched the remaining tangle in a samurai slashing frenzy, stood up sweaty and took a deep breath. I felt like the winning gladiator, like I had just battled with the devil and won, like I'd had an exciting adventure to start the day...Alive in the middle of a calm lagoon on glorious sunny day! And nobody to film it and upload it to Youtube.

The Kobra anchor had held through some strong wind, and now I wasn't sure if it was because it had been held by all this crap or because it's a good anchor. Who knows.

After this sweaty workout I motorsailed to Alvor, with a quick stop at the Albufeira marina for diesel and water. I stayed two nights in Alvor's outer anchorage but could have easily stayed for a whole year, at least.

The weather was perfect, Alvor was nearly perfect, and 2 nights just didn't feel like enough. 

Then I sailed (using the sails only) to the port of Sagres. I left after lunch and arrived nearly at sunset. The wind in port picked up and I was debating on whether to go ashore when a young bearded guy came by in a skiff. 

"Are you staying the night?"

"Yep"

"Where's your anchor?"

"About 30 meters that way."

"Obrigado. I'm putting out a line of hooks for the night."

He barely finished talking when he threw the first buoy overboard, about 10 m from Jakatar. I shouted that it was too close, but he never looked back, just kept going, laying out the line. It was a hell of a long line, at least all the way to Martinhal beach where I lost sight of his stern light. 

So I'm sitting there thinking, "fuck, shit and damn, what an idiot! If the wind veers east a bit, I'll have the line and buoy under me tomorrow when I want to leave. As I'm staring at the buoy, a trawler roars out of port at full throttle straight for me, which was the wrong direction for him, turns at the last second, leaving such a huge wake the dinghy nearly flew into the cockpit. What the fuck, has everybody gone crazy around here? Lost my appetite for going ashore.

Still dark the next morning I get up and can't see the fishing buoy anymore. Feeling a bit paranoid that it might be under the boat or caught in the propeller, I spun the propeller shaft by hand for a long time (advantage of having a Duramax shaft seal)...but it kept spinning freely. So I raised anchor and left in the semi-darkness, eyes peeled for the minefield of buoys near port, ready for the long trip to Sines against wind and waves.

Going by the beach anchorage, I started hearing the Cape Vicente lighthouse foghorn, even though there's not a wisp of fog to been seen. But sure enough, on the north side of the cape I motored into a blanket of fog that later kept alternating between bad and worse for hours on end.

Much later, when the fog cleared up, my long-time rich neighbor from Culatra, who must have been anchored in front of the beach, passed me, but not too fast, and I was barely doing about 5 knots.

Arrived in Sines at sunset and anchored near the  rich guy's boat again. Stayed for two nights, ate at Adega de Sines for lunch and dinner (8 euros per meal including a jar of wine), took long showers (you can check in at the marina office when anchored, pay half price and get a card to use the facilities).

Also got up early for the trip to Cascais and, fuck a duck, my rich neighbor passed me again with much waving by me and his wife and barely a nod from him. Maybe he doesn't trust his wife around handsome solo sailors!!!!! Cough, cough.

Anchored in the bay of Cascais, this time far from the rich guy so his wife couldn't get a good view of me. 

I was already feeling the "going home blues" so I decided (or rather, invented an excuse) that the conditions weren't very favorable for leaving the next day. Stayed 2 nights in Cascais, went for long walks, had lunch on the promenade and pretended not to stare at women on the beach.

The anchorage in Cascais seen from the very long promenade. Jakatar is somewhere in the middle near the marina entrance, where I park the dinghy behind the fuel dock - not supposed to do it, but I haven't been arrested yet.

Had an uneventful sail (motoring and motorsailing) to Peniche on the last day, except for one thing I had never done before: at lunch time, near Ericeira where the water is another minefield of buoys, I stopped the engine sailed at 1 knot toward the Azores while I leisurely made lunch, ate it and had a coffee without a care in the world.

Now I'm home, one summer older and still working. That wasn't the original plan.

All for the Sake of Grilled Squid

Cascais to Sines

At 8:00 a.m. - after a good night's sleep in the bay of Cascais - I raised anchor, motored out, raised all sail, shut down the engine and sailed south.

Sort of. I always get fooled by the false morning breeze near most harbors. After a coupe of hours of motor-sailing and slow sailing, I finally got a good northwest breeze and sailed all the way to Sines. 

David, although he got up later, had already motored by me in his Bavaria 32. David doesn't really sail his boat. He motors in all conditions: a) if there's not much wind, he needs to motor, obviously; b) if the wind is right, he unfurls the genoa but continues to motor to go faster; c) if the wind is too strong, he furls in the genoa and motors to keep it comfortable. Also, his puny in-mast furling main sail is useless, and I don't think he's used it in years.

[I lied twice in the last paragraph. On looking for a picture of his boat (I didn't take one during the trip), I found a picture from last year showing him using the main sail in a regatta and, of course, nort running the engine.]

The trip of about 55 nautical miles

I arrived in Sines at about 7 pm and anchored. The government-run marina only costs about 18 euros per night but I couldn't be bothered with the docking lines, fenders and checking in. I took a sponge bath, met David in town and went for dinner in the old part of town where I had a delicious dish of grilled squid.

Jakatar in the center, taken on the way to dinner.

Wing-on-Wing

Sailing wing-on-wing without a pole.

The boat is anchored in Culatra and I'm back home temporarily taking care of some business.

At high tide, Jakatar is swinging on 4:1 scope. My main fear is that a clueless marina skipper - and there's no shortage of them - will anchor too close and pull up my anchor in the process. 

Part 1 - Peniche to Cascais (44 miles)

I left Peniche solo on July 26 at 10:30 in the company of a a Bavaria 32 sailed by my friend David, also solo. I left the marina with one concern gnawing at me: my new 25 kg Kobra anchor was/is attached to two pieces of spliced chain totaling 35 m, which is not the ideal situation.* Not forgetting last year's anchor disaster, I do have a spare 45-pound plow anchor on 15 m of 8 mm chain and 40 m of line stowed in the sail locker ready for deployment.

The trip was a mix bag of sailing, motor-sailing and motoring. At the dreaded Cabo Raso (which should be renamed Cape Fear), the wind was only about 25 kt but we hit a wall of fog. Wind and fog don't usually mix, but Cabo Raso is a devilish place where anything can and will happen.

I was quite amused to see a large ketch that had been shadowing me farther offshore disappear into the fog. In a matter of minutes, I saw it motoring back at full steam, after which it spun around facing the enemy, like a bullfighting horse turning on its hind legs to face the bull from a safe distance. I don't blame them. They were obviously going farther south and about to enter a busy shipping lane.

Sailing past Cabo da Roca. The infamous Cabo Raso is just down the street. You want to start thinking about reefing here, and I had already dropped the main. Although Cabo da Roca may not look like much from a distance, notice that that it reaches the clouds...or, should I say, creates its own cloud system.

An hour later I was anchored in the sunny bay of Cascais sipping a small glass of wine. That's my ritual while waiting for the anchor to dig in.

We went ashore for dinner at a local restaurant that is getting more touristy and expensive as the years go by. The sardines were dry and the owner, on recognizing us, insisted on telling us his life story, which you probably don't want to know.

I'll tell you anyway. He claims to have been a barefoot, poverty-stricken kid who left home at 14 years of age, went hungry, worked hard and now works even harder. "Slept only 3 hours last night," he boasted. I think he was merely distracting us in the hope that we wouldn't notice that the sardines were like old leather shoes. Next time maybe I'll eat on the boat and spend the money on drinks at a sleazy bar. I've heard that bored middle-aged women are attracted to the smell of seamen.

Speaking of marina skippers and anchoring, going back to the boats we found that David's boat had dragged onto a fisherman's mooring buoy which had a filthy shuttle boat on it. The mother boat must have gone out for the night. The lines were fouled on the Bavaria's rudder and we had to do some cutting and retying, not before David cut the wrong line holding the dinghy connected to the buoy. Sitting on the oily dinghy, I caught it just in time and found myself holding the line that kept the dinghy and David's boat from floating away. Grunting and groaning, I finally managed to tie the nylon line to an oar lock.

Slept like a rock (or is is it "slept like a log"). I always sleep well, but it feels better on an anchored boat that's going somewhere.

* Wrong chain

Take note owners of a SL 555  Sea Tiger windlass looking to buy European chain.

If your windlass has a gypsy with 7 pockets = RCB70 – only 10 mm DIN 766 chain will fit (which means that the chain links are exactly 48 mm in total length.

After losing all my chain last year, I ordered a 15-m test piece which I would use for the spare anchor. It was a perfect fit. The problem was that they gave me the  wrong reference number. I used that reference number to buy 60 m of chain and, because of the wrong original reference number, I got the wrong chain.

The shop didn't want to take responsibility until I showed them two bills of sale for chain with the same reference number but different sizes. Seeing as they couldn't get the right size chain quickly, they lent me a 20 m piece they had at the shop, which I joined to the original 15 m test piece. It does the trick for now if I anchor in shallow water.