ARC Day One

This is our first full day at sea since the start of the ARC and in the last 24 hours we have covered exactly 198 miles. A 200 mile day is considered a very good pace for a yacht so we are really pleased with our progress. Andrew is helming and he has a great feel for the boat, I wonder if it is because he has soft hands developed from riding horses. 

ARC night before the start

At last we are leaving, tomorrow morning at 11am. We have had a relaxing couple of days and everyone seems rested and well prepared for the start. We had drinks on board Fabiola this evening with Gill and Lisa and their family and then went for an early dinner. In the middle of supper the heavens opened and we had a torrential downpour as the cold front passed over and now it is blowing from the northeast, perfect for tomorrow.

ARC Pre-start

For only the second time in the history of the ARC the start has been delayed due to bad weather. We are now leaving on Tuesday 27th November. Nothing too alarming, but the weather forecast today is for 20 knots from the South gusting up to 30 knots with heavy rain as the cold front comes through at dusk this evening. As the ARC is primarily a rally for cruisers and family boats the start has been postponed to Tuesday when we are forecasting 20 knots from the North East, perfect conditions for a downwind start. The Racing division will be starting this morning and anyone else who wants to start today is allowed to go, but we have decided to stay until Tuesday, along with most of the fleet.

Las Palmas

We are in Muelle Deportivo, the large marina in Las Palmas, Gran Canaria, where the Atlantic Rally for Cruisers starts on November 25th at midday and ends around 17 days later in Rodney Bay on the island of St Lucia in the Caribbean. There are 150 ARC boats already in the marina with another 100 or so still to come and there is a buzz in the air. The pontoons are covered with assorted paraphernalia in varying stages of assembly ranging from outboard motors and engines parts to bicycles, push chairs and life rafts.

Fuerteventura

The sun is setting over the western horizon and the lighthouse on the rocks sternly points its finger of light which intensifies as the minutes pass and the darkness gathers. Fatty is in the galley and I am sitting in the warm glow of the saloon lights, San Miguel in one hand, keyboard in the other. The Canary Islands are a barren group of volcanic rocks, dropped into the deep Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Africa. The Canary islanders by contrast are delightful and friendly almost as if to make amends for the aggressive geography that they inhabit.

Lanzarote

It is 9.30 pm and I am sitting alone on watch in the cockpit. Everyone else is asleep or reading in their bunks down below. We are 50 miles off the Coast of Morocco, well into the Atlantic, and I can feel the long Atlantic swell lift us gently and then lower us back into the inky sea. We are motor sailing again because the wind has died down and we are making good progress with a little assistance from the current which is setting to the West.   When I switch off my head torch to do a 360 degree scan of the horizon, I can make out a faint red glow over the African coast but above me the sky is black and alive with stars.

Gibraltar

We continue our cruise down the Costa del Sol in flat water stopping first at Almerimar then Marina del Este and Puerto Banus on our way. Puerto Banus has a reputation as the glitzy harbour on the ‘Costa del Crime’ where wealthy roués who have escaped from northern Europe come to display their new found wealth. It lives up to its billing. We find the port looking slightly tired, but crowded with expectant visitors who gaze longingly into empty expensive boutiques which would be more at home on the Boulevard St Honore than in this Spanish amusement park.

Cartagena

October 7^th and we are motor sailing in warm sunshine along the Costa Blanca. It is around 27 degrees and a gentle wind is blowing on our bow. The sea temperature is down to 25 degrees now and the sea breeze feels cool on the skin after the scorching temperatures of the summer. There is a definite feel of autumn in the air, although the days are still hot and the nights are mild, summer is over and boats are making their preparations for the winter. The port of Cartagena, a favourite winter destination for cruisers, is busy with boats checking in for the winter. We feel smug because as the weather cools from the North we are heading South, following the sun towards the equator.

ARC Preparations

Since Caroline (nee Fatty), Jamie and Sophie left Palma I have been working through all the big items on the List that I want to attend to in Palma before we leave for the Canaries and it's been a very busy two weeks. This blog is about all the technical matters that I have been immersed in and therefore you may find me wallowing self-indulgently in subjects such as forestay tension, life rafts and oil pressure senders, without apology or brevity.

Formentera

We have returned to Espalmador, the island we first visited almost exactly a year ago on our passage from Ipswich. It is still as we remember: a low spit of sand running north to south, turning west around the bay, almost meeting the reef and creating the perfect protected anchorage with just a narrow gap that allows us in, with only a meter under the keel. Once inside the bay, the water deepens and turns aquamarine as it washes over the white sand and rolls onto the beach and beyond, the dunes covered with pampas grass sway in the warm air.

Palma at 39 degrees

Palma is hot and busy. The shopkeepers and bar owners who were so friendly and attentive over the winter are losing their cool. It has been over 30 degrees now for the past few months and the Mallorcans are calling it the hottest summer for over ten years. My taxi driver taking me to the airport fans herself and points to the temperature gauge on her dashboard which reads 39 degrees. I remind her that in February I woke up to find snow on my decks and she laughs and tells me that it was also the hardest winter in 50 years.

Alghero

The harbour lies low on the horizon behind a huge stone breakwater to protect it from the Mistral which blows directly into the Golfo del Corallo. However, today the wind is still, the water is calm and we have called ahead and made a reservation with Frederico, the owner of the marina who is on the quay to catch our lines. Fatty is becoming yet more dextrous with our warps and this time she casts the line like a lasoo and a coil of rope drops neatly over Fredericos head and hangs from his neck, causing him and fatty to both roar with laughter. We have arrived in Alghero.

Reflections

As we work our way back west towards Mallorca we stop off at a beautiful anchorage in one of the Magdalena Islands in the Costa Smerelda. There must be 100 boats in the anchorage when we drop anchor but as the afternoon wears on, most of the power boats and ribs run for home leaving a handful of yachts to enjoy the sunset. The water is so clear that even in the moonlight we can see the ocean floor beneath us.

Elba to Corsica

As we approach the point, ripples on the water race towards us like a shoal of fish as the wind is deflected around the headland and whips up the sea. Once clear of the protection of the cliffs, Juno heels in the gusts that blow off the hills and white capped waves smack against the hull throwing a fine spray over the bows. We are entering the Golfo di Campo, a large bay on the south side of Elba where we plan to anchor, sheltered from the northerlies. There is a large natural harbour on the western side of the bay and yachts are anchored all around, while on the shoreline is a wide beach with a swimming area cordoned off by a string of red buoys.

Tuscan Islands

The sun is still bright and hot although it is seven o'clock in the evening. We are with Sarah and Steven Rose in the cockpit and Juno is docked in the harbour in Portoferraio on the island of Elba. An hour ago the inner harbour was empty; the town quay had a smattering of boats gently straining against their mooring lines as the wash from the ferries rolled in. All around this horseshoe shaped natural harbour high buildings in shades of pastel create an elegant amphitheatre where the action is about to begin.

Rome

The taxi journey from the marina into Rome is not propitious. The young driver is a troubled soul who seems unsuitable for a life on the Italian roads and he gesticulates and groans at every indiscretion by other drivers and then slumps in his seat, seemingly finding it all too much to bear. Eventually we arrive in the centre of Rome at Via Condotti and we are greeted by Francesco, the duty manager of this stylish 5 bedroom hotel and he produces a map of Rome and scrawls all over it highlighting the famous landmarks that we have to pack into our short stay.

The Amalfi Coast

After the isolation of Stromboli, Amalfi is a riot of colour and noise. The entire coast is set against a backdrop of mountains with sheer drops to the sea below and the occasional smudge of terracotta where villages have grown up around natural harbours on this uncompromising coastline. Amalfi is busy: we call ahead on the VHF and a deeply bronzed man in a white vest with a mop of bleached blonde hair and a flashing smile greets us in a red rib and directs us into the port.

Stromboli

We slip away quietly from our anchorage in Panarea at eight in the morning before the rest of the bay awakes. Panarea lies on an underwater platform and unlike the bottomless bays of Vulcano and Lipari it is surrounded by shallow water and numerous reefs, where small day boats anchor and sleep away the hot hours of the day. The most dramatic of the surrounding islets is Basiluzzo which rears out of the sea, with dramatic rock faces of vertical grooved strata like giant organ pipes hanging over the dark caves below where the swell gurgles as it washes in and out. Gulls cry as they circle the cliffs high above us and we glide over the aqua marine blue sea with huge boulders on the sea bed passing under our hull. 

Panarea

The most southerly of the Aeolian Islands is called Vulcano, and it lives up to its name. Approaching the island we see smoke drifting from the top of the crater as we round the top of the island and into the bay where we drop anchor. Kerry and I go ashore in the rib looking for fresh bread and we walk along a beach of black sand which looks like mud but behaves like sand. People lie on the black sand on their towels and deckchairs but the sea looks inky black even though it is clean and clear - all very odd. We ask the way to the supermarket and we are directed down a small lane where a powerful whiff of sulphur greets us.

Strait of Messina

The market in Ortigia is a riot of colour and smells. There are stalls piled high with fruit and vegetables and fish counters awash with fish of every possible variety. Shoppers mill around the busy stalls where grizzled merchants hold court, bellowing across the street to advertise their wares. A fishmonger uses a large hatchet to chop three blood red slices off a huge slab of Tuna, his cigarette never leaving his mouth, then throws in another slice for free with a grin and a roar. We buy three varieties of tomato, small round peaches, a bunch of fresh basil and big globs of mozzarella; 'half buffalo, half cow' we are told by a very charming and persuasive woman who convinces Fatty to buy armfuls of cheese, olives and even home-made beer which we lug back to the boat in the searing midday sun.