Unfortunately my Atlantic adventure has been cut short, due to various issues including some urgent commitments back home. After spending some time exploring Lanzarote, I said my goodbyes to Dave, Rob and Russel, and headed back to cold old England. Although a little disappointed, I have some amazing stories to tell and incredible experiences to draw upon. But most of all I've made some great friends.
I will definitely complete my odyssey sometime in the future - in the meantime I'll be closely following the progress of Rob and Dave. I wish them and the new crew of Vegas A well and safe journey.
Monday, 29 November 2010
Thursday, 4 November 2010
Planet of Life
Dolphins became such a common sight throughout all the legs to the Canary Islands, that we really missed them on the days that they didn't arrive. We identified them as being the Common Dolphin (Delphinus Delphis), and they were truly magical to watch. Visit the Sea Watch Foundation website for more information on dolphins and their distribution.
Another fascinating yet mysterious animal that we came across was the sea turtle. We first came across turtles in the crossing between Lagos (Portugal) and Lanzarote (Canary Islands), during the first 3 days when the sea was dead calm and the wind non-existent. We initially thought that they were pieces of floating debris, as they were mostly submerged, and all we could see was a small dark mass with irregular "lumps" or ridges on the dorsal surface. We must have passed about 10 of these before we realised that they were, in fact, alive! We passed close by to one of them; it raised it's head out of the water, must have been just as surprised to see us as we were to see it, and promptly dived, only to resurface a moment later with a fluke in the air, as if to say "I give up"! We weren't able to positively identify the species, but due to the presence of ridges on the back I assume that they were Leatherback Turtles. See the Sea Turtle Foundation website for a fascinating insight into the world of turtles and their distribution.
Other life that we saw included small land birds that had flown over 100 miles offshore to find food - especially off the west coast of Africa, where warm winds off the Sahara blow insects far out to sea. It's amazing to see a small, fragile bird flitting between the waves, taking the occasional rest on the guard rails of the boat, and then disappearing again into the distance.
It is awe-inspiring to think of the magnificence of the planet on which we live. When sailing on brilliant blue water with a depth of 4000m+, the brief encounters of life that we had were a mere hint of what lay below us. And yet, as a species we have somehow managed to threaten so many others with extinction. I truly hope that by thinking of our place on this planet as being integral, rather than separate, to the system that gave us life, that we can preserve what's left for our children.
Another fascinating yet mysterious animal that we came across was the sea turtle. We first came across turtles in the crossing between Lagos (Portugal) and Lanzarote (Canary Islands), during the first 3 days when the sea was dead calm and the wind non-existent. We initially thought that they were pieces of floating debris, as they were mostly submerged, and all we could see was a small dark mass with irregular "lumps" or ridges on the dorsal surface. We must have passed about 10 of these before we realised that they were, in fact, alive! We passed close by to one of them; it raised it's head out of the water, must have been just as surprised to see us as we were to see it, and promptly dived, only to resurface a moment later with a fluke in the air, as if to say "I give up"! We weren't able to positively identify the species, but due to the presence of ridges on the back I assume that they were Leatherback Turtles. See the Sea Turtle Foundation website for a fascinating insight into the world of turtles and their distribution.
Other life that we saw included small land birds that had flown over 100 miles offshore to find food - especially off the west coast of Africa, where warm winds off the Sahara blow insects far out to sea. It's amazing to see a small, fragile bird flitting between the waves, taking the occasional rest on the guard rails of the boat, and then disappearing again into the distance.
It is awe-inspiring to think of the magnificence of the planet on which we live. When sailing on brilliant blue water with a depth of 4000m+, the brief encounters of life that we had were a mere hint of what lay below us. And yet, as a species we have somehow managed to threaten so many others with extinction. I truly hope that by thinking of our place on this planet as being integral, rather than separate, to the system that gave us life, that we can preserve what's left for our children.
Sunday, 31 October 2010
Running the Trade Winds
The time had come to leave Portugal, and make the longest crossing yet, to the island of Lanzarote in the Canary Island archipelago. At around 550 nautical miles, we estimated it would take us around 5 days to get to our destination. We departed at about midday of the 20th October, after doing some last minute grocery shopping and refuelling, and motored out into flat seas, heading in a south westerly direction across the stretch of ocean that forms the Straits of Gibraltar in the east. The forecast was for very little wind for the first 2 or 3 days, so we weren't expecting to do any fast sailing.
The night of the 20th merged into the morning of the 21st as we crossed the shipping lanes, where as always, we kept a sharp lookout for tankers and cargo ships to ensure that these behemoths didn't come up on us too quickly. As day broke we decided to try and get the spinnaker up to take advantage of some very light winds behind us, but besides this the day continued on, uneventful and warm. Another gorgeous setting sun behind some clouds, and our watch cycle began again. The night brought with it unsettled weather with thunderstorms brewing in the distance, and still no wind. We had to steer clear of some very active lightning clouds, and got drenched a few times by warm rain - welcome to tropical downpours at sea!
Daybreak of the 22nd arrived with continued intermittent downpours, but the air remained still. Based on our GRIB files, we were expecting some wind coming from the north east within the next 24 hours - the beginning of the trade winds that sweep down towards the Canary Islands, and then west across the open Atlantic. Another day of calm and we should start to see some activity.
As the night of the 22nd progressed the wind indeed began to pick up, and by the morning of the 23rd we had a brisk 15 knots of wind coming up behind us from a north-easterly direction. At last the trades! With blue skies and a full mainsail, we were making a good 5 to 5.5 knots. As the day wore on, the wind began to increase so that we were experiencing around 20 knots of wind, and the sea state began to pick up. Through the night the wave height continued to build, and by daybreak of the 24th we were surfing down big rollers in 25 to 30 knot gusts. At least we were making good speed!
As the wind was a consistent north-easterly, we were running on a south-westerly course, which, if we continued on, would take us west of Lanzarote instead of along the eastern side. We needed to make a decision as to whether or not we would be able to gybe, and take a south easterly course to round the northern tip of the island, or to continue on to Gran Canaria or Tenerife. The problem was the height of the waves and the wind gusts which were now approaching 35 knots - by gybing we could potentially put ourselves in a dangerous position by sailing beam-on to the waves, and risk a knockdown in big seas. We needed to make a decision, as within a few hours we would be at the maximum angle where we could turn south-east and follow a line to the northern tip of Lanzarote. We waited for around 2 hours to see if the sea state improved, which it did slightly, and so on skipper's orders we gybed and set our new course.
A challenging night in big seas and high winds (35 knots) meant a tired crew by the time day broke on the 25th, mainly due to the intense concentration required when helming in such conditions, but with Lanzarote in sight we were nearing our destination. As we rounded the northern point, the headland sheltered the sea and suddenly we were in the calm, and able to make a cup of tea without being rolled from one side of the boat to the other! We headed for Aricefe, but apon arrival found the harbour to be unsuitable for mooring, so we headed further down the coast to Puerto Calero. As we entered the marina, we were greeted by my gorgeous wife who'd flown out to meet us - a brilliant welcome after weeks at sea.
As in life, in sailing we need to be prepared to change our plans, as sometimes the winds can be stronger than predicted, or blowing in the wrong direction. And sometimes we need to make decisions that are a calculated risk. Once made though, we need commitment and determination to see them through, and when our goal is reached, the taste of success is all the sweeter.
The night of the 20th merged into the morning of the 21st as we crossed the shipping lanes, where as always, we kept a sharp lookout for tankers and cargo ships to ensure that these behemoths didn't come up on us too quickly. As day broke we decided to try and get the spinnaker up to take advantage of some very light winds behind us, but besides this the day continued on, uneventful and warm. Another gorgeous setting sun behind some clouds, and our watch cycle began again. The night brought with it unsettled weather with thunderstorms brewing in the distance, and still no wind. We had to steer clear of some very active lightning clouds, and got drenched a few times by warm rain - welcome to tropical downpours at sea!
Daybreak of the 22nd arrived with continued intermittent downpours, but the air remained still. Based on our GRIB files, we were expecting some wind coming from the north east within the next 24 hours - the beginning of the trade winds that sweep down towards the Canary Islands, and then west across the open Atlantic. Another day of calm and we should start to see some activity.
As the night of the 22nd progressed the wind indeed began to pick up, and by the morning of the 23rd we had a brisk 15 knots of wind coming up behind us from a north-easterly direction. At last the trades! With blue skies and a full mainsail, we were making a good 5 to 5.5 knots. As the day wore on, the wind began to increase so that we were experiencing around 20 knots of wind, and the sea state began to pick up. Through the night the wave height continued to build, and by daybreak of the 24th we were surfing down big rollers in 25 to 30 knot gusts. At least we were making good speed!
As the wind was a consistent north-easterly, we were running on a south-westerly course, which, if we continued on, would take us west of Lanzarote instead of along the eastern side. We needed to make a decision as to whether or not we would be able to gybe, and take a south easterly course to round the northern tip of the island, or to continue on to Gran Canaria or Tenerife. The problem was the height of the waves and the wind gusts which were now approaching 35 knots - by gybing we could potentially put ourselves in a dangerous position by sailing beam-on to the waves, and risk a knockdown in big seas. We needed to make a decision, as within a few hours we would be at the maximum angle where we could turn south-east and follow a line to the northern tip of Lanzarote. We waited for around 2 hours to see if the sea state improved, which it did slightly, and so on skipper's orders we gybed and set our new course.
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| Surfing down a following sea |
As in life, in sailing we need to be prepared to change our plans, as sometimes the winds can be stronger than predicted, or blowing in the wrong direction. And sometimes we need to make decisions that are a calculated risk. Once made though, we need commitment and determination to see them through, and when our goal is reached, the taste of success is all the sweeter.
Monday, 18 October 2010
The Opposite Extreme
The morning of the 14th arrived with sunny skies and virtually no wind - the forecast predicted quiet conditions right through to the weekend, so we knew that we'd need to rely on the engine to get us at least part of the way to Lagos, our next destination We decided that we'd depart sometime that afternoon.
After a walk into the town of Porto from the marina, and visting the local market (a genuine market selling fish straight off the fishing boats, fresh vegetables and even live chickens and rabbits!) and supermarket, we were stocked up for the estimated 2 day trip to Lagos. Upon returning to the marina we stowed the groceries and cast off at around 15h00, glad to leave the very polluted waters of the working port behind.
An almost total lack of wind meant motoring for hours, which led into days, on end - making an average speed of around 4 knots. In good sailing conditions we would normally make around 5-6 knots, so we were losing approximately 24 miles a day, which meant that our 2 day trip turned out to be a 3 day one. Although the days were beautifully bright and warm, and the sea state calm, the endless drone of the engine seemed to slow time down, so we were looking for things to do to keep us occupied. Dave our skipper taught us how to "whip" the end of frayed ropes (using waxed nylon twine to bind the end), and we got on with a few small maintenance jobs. The night watches also seemed to last longer than usual, and if it weren't for cups of tea being regularly made, we'd nod off at the helm! We also had the occasional visit from dolphins - something which is always welcome, although they seemed to mock our lack of speed by jumping out of the water.
On we motored, and by the time we reached Cape St. Vincent, the south-western most point of Europe with it's impressive lighthouse, we were running very low on fuel, having already used up 2 reserve containers. We were hoping that as we turned the corner and headed east, we'd pick up some much-needed wind. As we rounded the cape, a welcome 15 knots of wind, blowing off the land in a southerly direction greeted us. We unfurled the genoa, killed the engine and cruised towards Lagos at around 6 knots, with broad smiles on our faces showing relief that we didn't have to resort to oars, to get us the remaining 20 odd miles into port!
We entered the pretty (although touristy) port of Lagos at around 17h00 of the 17th, and after mooring up we found a local restaurant - the extended time that it had taken for us to get to Lagos had also meant low food reserves and a hungry (and thirsty) crew!
So far on this adventure we've had both extremes of weather thrown at us - the lesson being learning to accept and adapt to whatever we encounter - to "go with the flow"....
Next stop - the Canaries!
Until then....
After a walk into the town of Porto from the marina, and visting the local market (a genuine market selling fish straight off the fishing boats, fresh vegetables and even live chickens and rabbits!) and supermarket, we were stocked up for the estimated 2 day trip to Lagos. Upon returning to the marina we stowed the groceries and cast off at around 15h00, glad to leave the very polluted waters of the working port behind.
An almost total lack of wind meant motoring for hours, which led into days, on end - making an average speed of around 4 knots. In good sailing conditions we would normally make around 5-6 knots, so we were losing approximately 24 miles a day, which meant that our 2 day trip turned out to be a 3 day one. Although the days were beautifully bright and warm, and the sea state calm, the endless drone of the engine seemed to slow time down, so we were looking for things to do to keep us occupied. Dave our skipper taught us how to "whip" the end of frayed ropes (using waxed nylon twine to bind the end), and we got on with a few small maintenance jobs. The night watches also seemed to last longer than usual, and if it weren't for cups of tea being regularly made, we'd nod off at the helm! We also had the occasional visit from dolphins - something which is always welcome, although they seemed to mock our lack of speed by jumping out of the water.
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| You don't need a reason to play! |
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| Cape St. Vincent, Portugal |
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| Arrived at last! |
Next stop - the Canaries!
Until then....
Wednesday, 13 October 2010
A Strong Spirit
We departed A Coruna on October 11th under sunny skies, with a good 20 knots of wind off the starboard beam, followed by a single-handed yachtsman on his way to the Canaries to take part in the ARC (Atlantic Rally for Cruisers). We made an excellent 7.5-8 knots of speed to round the first headland, by which time we had to change course further south to put us on a run/broad reach. We set the preventer and continued uneventfully until dusk.
As dusk drew in, we took in the headsail and put another reef in the mainsail, after which we had a delicious chilli con-carne made by Rob. We started our watches at 21h00 with a new system of 3 hour shifts, which have worked out well in giving us a better sleep cycle. It was a beautiful clear night, with some heavy gusts from a north-easterly direction that took us up to around 8 knots in speed. The clear conditions continued through the night, and as Rob and I were on watch again for the 06h00 to 09h00 shift, we saw a beautiful sunrise over the sea and the western Spanish coastline.
As the morning of the 12th continued with very light winds (3 knots), we set the cruising chute to try and make the best speed possible. Our following companion, the soloist, radioed to say that he was changing course towards Vigo, as he was tired and couldn't continue on to Porto without rest. We wished him the best of luck - it takes great strength of spirit and deep reserves to do something like this on your own. Soon afterwards, a pod of dolphins suddenly made their typically uplifting appearance, rolling and cutting through the water, challenging the boat to more speed. I never tire of watching these beautiful, intelligent creatures in their wild environment.
Late in the afternoon, with the wind having died down to almost nothing, we decided to head further inshore to try and pick up a sea breeze, but after a few hours we realised that we'd need to continue through the night under motor. So onwards we went, under an impossibly starry sky and sliver of moon towards Porto. Sometime in the night, we crossed from Spanish into Portuguese waters.
About 4 hours outside Porto, as Rob and I started a second shift on this, our second night, we noticed that an acrid, sulphurous smell had started to fill the saloon of the boat, and I started to hunt down the source of the odour. It turned out that the main engine battery was overcharging and overheating, giving off potentially dangerous hydrogen and sulphurous gas - a possible problem related to the new alternator repair. So we cut the engine and tried to make the most of the faintest breath of air to get us further in towards Porto.
Eventually, as dawn arrived, we were able to restart the engine with the now cooled battery and motor into the very industrial Porto harbour, surrounded by incoming fishing boats with their catches and attendant flocks of seagulls. Polluted waters and the stench of rotting fish filled our nostrils, but the yacht marina proved to have good facilities.
Apart from the battery problem, we'd had a relatively uneventful, though windless trip, and after mooring up and the official customs visit, we were able to walk up to the town and have a typically Portuguese meal of chicken, rice and potatoes, overlooking a sandy beach. As we ate our meal I thought of our soloist friend, and wondered what challenges he might face further down the line.
Good luck to him and his vessel - may he have fair winds and sunny skies.
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| Our soloist friend |
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| Watching the sun rise |
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| More playful companions |
About 4 hours outside Porto, as Rob and I started a second shift on this, our second night, we noticed that an acrid, sulphurous smell had started to fill the saloon of the boat, and I started to hunt down the source of the odour. It turned out that the main engine battery was overcharging and overheating, giving off potentially dangerous hydrogen and sulphurous gas - a possible problem related to the new alternator repair. So we cut the engine and tried to make the most of the faintest breath of air to get us further in towards Porto.
Eventually, as dawn arrived, we were able to restart the engine with the now cooled battery and motor into the very industrial Porto harbour, surrounded by incoming fishing boats with their catches and attendant flocks of seagulls. Polluted waters and the stench of rotting fish filled our nostrils, but the yacht marina proved to have good facilities.
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| Fishing boats and their entourage |
Good luck to him and his vessel - may he have fair winds and sunny skies.
Sunday, 10 October 2010
Local Knowledge
At around midday of the day we arrived in Gijon, battered and bruised, we said goodbye to our crewmate Magda, who departed for the UK from Gijon airport. We then made some enquiries into getting our alternator repaired, hung out all of our very soaked wet weather gear and then got a few hours sleep. Later that day a diesel electrician arrived and took the alternator away, promising to get it repaired as soon as possible.
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| Drying out |
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| Sail repair required |
On Thursday morning, we started with the necessary work to repair the various breakages of Biscay. We did our best to repair torn sails, a failed winch and broken jammers, as well as lots more drying out. I was sent up the mast to replace a failed navigation light, and by that evening we'd earned a few ice cold beers at the local terrace pub, where we watched a fascinating display of a local tradition - pouring locally produced cider into a glass from above one's head (apparently it brings out the flavour!).
The weather held into the late evening, and Russell set up a hand-line and within 20 minutes, he'd hooked us the first of 3 fish! Soon after eating a delicious dinner, the watches began as night fell, and we settled into our nightly routine. Biscay was, however, not done with us, and after a few hours of rain and changeable wind, we were hit by a squall at 03h00 on Saturday morning. We were driven further inshore by a northerly blast of 30 knots, and in our attempts to get further out, our depth gauge started showing dangerously shallow water. We managed to get out however, and held out through to Saturday lunchtime, when the weather started to improve. By Saturday evening we were approaching the north-west corner of Spain where we could start turning south towards A Coruna.
The night continued into the early hours of Sunday morning, with clear skies and a magnificent array of stars, and we held our plotted course under engine, as the wind had died down. By 05h00 we were on the approach to A Coruna harbour, and were moored up by 08h30.
A hot shower, hearty breakfast, and a bright warm day marks the start of our brief visit to A Coruna. Lets hope the weather window holds for our trip to Porto in a few days. This time, however, local weather knowledge will hold more weight than flashy forecasts...
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| Beer at sunset |
Our trusty marine electrician arrived in the early afternoon of the following day, with good news, and soon we had a fully charging battery. We decided we should probably make the best of the spell of good weather, and so departed for A Coruna on Friday evening at around 17h30. We had checked the weather information for the trip, and expected variable southerly winds, with an expected maximum of around 15 knots. Our friendly electrician did offer up the advice of imminent bad weather, but we were confident of the forecast. With a full night of uninterrupted sleep the previous night, we were in good spirits.
The weather held into the late evening, and Russell set up a hand-line and within 20 minutes, he'd hooked us the first of 3 fish! Soon after eating a delicious dinner, the watches began as night fell, and we settled into our nightly routine. Biscay was, however, not done with us, and after a few hours of rain and changeable wind, we were hit by a squall at 03h00 on Saturday morning. We were driven further inshore by a northerly blast of 30 knots, and in our attempts to get further out, our depth gauge started showing dangerously shallow water. We managed to get out however, and held out through to Saturday lunchtime, when the weather started to improve. By Saturday evening we were approaching the north-west corner of Spain where we could start turning south towards A Coruna.
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| Russell with dinner |
A hot shower, hearty breakfast, and a bright warm day marks the start of our brief visit to A Coruna. Lets hope the weather window holds for our trip to Porto in a few days. This time, however, local weather knowledge will hold more weight than flashy forecasts...
Thursday, 7 October 2010
The Battle of Biscay
We left Falmouth on the morning of Saturday, October 2nd at 08h00, after an emotional goodbye, with the adventure of a lifetime lying ahead of us. And what a start it was - crossing the Bay of Biscay proved to be beyond our wildest expectations in terms of challenges to our endurance and spirit.
In the late afternoon we were heading from the Cornish coast, south west towards the shipping lanes, when suddenly a pod of dolphins appeared. They swam with the boat for about an hour - watching them was a mesmerising experience. They have the most incredible sense of the motion of the boat, and effortlessly jumped and twisted in the wake as we sped along. A "good omen" I thought at the time - little did I know that perhaps they were offering us a warning of things to come!
We started our first series of watches at around 21h00, with Russell and I doing the first stint of 2 hours. Rob and Magda took the second watch with Dave our skipper, and so it went through the night, steering a close reach course through some unsettled weather. At around 04h00 the following morning, we were due to change watch again, and Rob and Magda were just waking from their slumber when we were unexpectedly hit by 35 knots of wind. The bow of the boat rounded up and Russell, who was helming at the time, was unable to hold course - we were hopelessly overpowered - we needed to reduce sail, and fast! I shouted for some help below, and once we had a few more hands on deck, was able to put another reef in the mainsail and reduce the genoa. We were being battered by our first dose of Biscay weather, and it lasted for around 6 hours.
By Sunday afternoon, the wind calmed and we were able to get our exhausted selves together. Magda volunteered to cook an interesting egg and potato dish for dinner, which was welcome as we hadn't eaten the whole day. Little did we know that this was going to provide us with the energy needed to deal with our next dose of severe weather. We'd taken a look at the Navtex weather information we'd received, and it indicated gale force winds, so we were a little more prepared for this than before. When it did hit us on Sunday night, we had to endure around 12 hours of constant battering; we also had a series of mishaps, such as a few violent gybes that threatened to break our mainsheet traveller, which could have had catastrophic consequences. The alternator on our engine had also packed in, and as our batteries weren't charging, we weren't able to start the engine. This proved to be an issue through the following days, as we were reduced to barely enough power to light the compass at night, let alone other navigation instruments.
By Monday afternoon the sea state had calmed, and we even had a few hours of intermittent sunshine. But again, because this is Biscay, nothing is impossible, and by late on Monday night, we entered the worst of the weather systems that we were to encounter on this leg. A severe gale, with winds of between 35 and 40 knots and beating rain, hammered us for hour after hour, with the sea state building bigger and bigger. Massive waves were breaking over the boat, and helming in the dark proved to be a roller coaster ride. Nature was flexing her infinite muscles, and we were witnessing her immense power. The terrifying beauty of mountainous waves breaking in the dark, lit up by phosphorescence, was awe-inspiring. By this time we had decided to change course towards where we thought calmer weather would be, towards Gijon in Spain, instead of A Coruna.
Its amazing what we can endure when placed in a situation that we can't escape. The biggest battle though, is not with the outside world, but with yourself.
Next, on to A Coruna! Until then...
In the late afternoon we were heading from the Cornish coast, south west towards the shipping lanes, when suddenly a pod of dolphins appeared. They swam with the boat for about an hour - watching them was a mesmerising experience. They have the most incredible sense of the motion of the boat, and effortlessly jumped and twisted in the wake as we sped along. A "good omen" I thought at the time - little did I know that perhaps they were offering us a warning of things to come!
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| Playful company |
By Sunday afternoon, the wind calmed and we were able to get our exhausted selves together. Magda volunteered to cook an interesting egg and potato dish for dinner, which was welcome as we hadn't eaten the whole day. Little did we know that this was going to provide us with the energy needed to deal with our next dose of severe weather. We'd taken a look at the Navtex weather information we'd received, and it indicated gale force winds, so we were a little more prepared for this than before. When it did hit us on Sunday night, we had to endure around 12 hours of constant battering; we also had a series of mishaps, such as a few violent gybes that threatened to break our mainsheet traveller, which could have had catastrophic consequences. The alternator on our engine had also packed in, and as our batteries weren't charging, we weren't able to start the engine. This proved to be an issue through the following days, as we were reduced to barely enough power to light the compass at night, let alone other navigation instruments.
By Monday afternoon the sea state had calmed, and we even had a few hours of intermittent sunshine. But again, because this is Biscay, nothing is impossible, and by late on Monday night, we entered the worst of the weather systems that we were to encounter on this leg. A severe gale, with winds of between 35 and 40 knots and beating rain, hammered us for hour after hour, with the sea state building bigger and bigger. Massive waves were breaking over the boat, and helming in the dark proved to be a roller coaster ride. Nature was flexing her infinite muscles, and we were witnessing her immense power. The terrifying beauty of mountainous waves breaking in the dark, lit up by phosphorescence, was awe-inspiring. By this time we had decided to change course towards where we thought calmer weather would be, towards Gijon in Spain, instead of A Coruna.
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| Skipper at the helm |
The storm lasted into late on Tuesday morning, and eventually the waves started to lose their height and power, although the rain persisted. We were exhausted and wet, and with the last of the remaining laptop power, Dave plotted a final course to Gijon. Through persistent rain, we continued on, heading 190 degrees, and finally in the early hours of Wednesday morning, we sighted the lighthouses of the Spanish coast. Eventually the navigation beacons marking the approach to Gijon became visible, and we entered the harbour at about 06h00. A cup of tea was followed by a much needed shower and a long sleep.
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| Below decks after a watch |
Next, on to A Coruna! Until then...
Saturday, 2 October 2010
Falmouth Departure
The crew departed from Falmouth this morning (2nd Oct 2010) at 08:30 for A Coruña in Spain. Good luck intrepid adventurers, I pray the Bay of Biscay is kind to you.
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| The crew for this leg of the trip |
Tuesday, 28 September 2010
Stopover Dartmouth
A report back from the crew yesterday shows that all is well - they arrived in Dartmouth at 13h00 on Monday after leaving Eastbourne at 10h00 on Sunday, and sailed through the night. They had a minimum 20 / maximum 33 knots of wind and made up a good 8.3 knots in speed! They were up early again this morning, and left Dartmouth to make Falmouth by this evening.
I'll be downloading the latest GRIB files (detailed weather information files) tonight to see what the Bay of Biscay has in store for us over the coming week. The weather and sea state will determine exactly when we leave Falmouth - sometimes it's a bit of a wait to ensure that we catch a good weather window.
I'll keep you posted....
Monday, 27 September 2010
Adventure underway!
The adventure finally began on Sunday, with part of the crew sailing down to Falmouth from Eastbourne. Due to work commitments I will be joining them on Thursday 30th. Fair winds to the guys as they make their way down the South Coast....
Where are we?
Its a big blue ocean out there, so how do we know where we are? How do we communicate with loved ones, or for that matter, with the coastguard if an emergency strikes?
In this age of technology, there is a plethora of gadgets and equipment to make the world smaller. But as we are taught when we start out sailing, we shouldn't rely too heavily on electronics, in case of equipment or power failure. We should at least have the same basic practical knowledge that our forefathers had, such as how to plot a course on a paper chart, how to figure out where we are with a magnetic compass, how to read the tide tables, and for the more advanced, navigation by the stars with a sextant. Once we have mastered the basics, we are then able to better appreciate the gadgets that we use on a day to day basis, knowing that we have a manual backup when we need it.
For navigation, we use a GPS unit, which may or may not come with a built-in plotter (this allows us to plot a course, along with way-points and other fancy features). These units communicate with a network of satellites in geo-stationary orbit around the earth, allowing for amazing accuracy (up to a few feet).
For our basic communication, we use a VHF radio, and these days the fixed-mount models come with something called "DSC", otherwise known as "digital selective calling". What this means is that the radio is also able to transmit digital data such as a mayday message, along with our position (if the radio is connected up to a GPS unit), at the touch of a button. This saves precious time if lives are at risk.
There are limits to the range of transmission of a signal from a standard VHF unit however, especially from the middle of a vast ocean (due to the power required for transmission, as well as the curvature of the earth preventing the signal from reaching a land-based receiver). So how do we send an emergency call if the VHF radio is out of range? For regular communication, satellite phones come into their own - transmission of radio signals (these days the newer models include digital data transmission, such as email and internet) is directed up to a series of communication satellites, which relay the call on to land-based receivers. For emergency communication, some very special gadgets have been on the market for a while now, called EPIRBs, or "emergency position indicating radio beacon", and these can be manually or automatically activated when the unit is submerged in water. All ocean crossing vessels (including commercial vessels) should have these, and they have seved many lives. They work by sending out a radio signal, along with the position (by means of a built-in gps unit) at regular intervals, for a period of days.
Other pieces of useful electronic equipment include NAVTEX (navigational telex) - a unit that receives weather and navigation information from stations around the world. Radar is also highly desirable, especially in busy waters such as the English Channel, as it allows us to keep an "electronic eye" out on traffic.
We have most of this equipment on board, which increases our safety margin considerably, but all the technology in the world is useless if no-one knows how to use it. Fortunately, most of the crew have some level of experience using this equipment, so we can share our knowledge with those that don't.
Until next time....
In this age of technology, there is a plethora of gadgets and equipment to make the world smaller. But as we are taught when we start out sailing, we shouldn't rely too heavily on electronics, in case of equipment or power failure. We should at least have the same basic practical knowledge that our forefathers had, such as how to plot a course on a paper chart, how to figure out where we are with a magnetic compass, how to read the tide tables, and for the more advanced, navigation by the stars with a sextant. Once we have mastered the basics, we are then able to better appreciate the gadgets that we use on a day to day basis, knowing that we have a manual backup when we need it.
For navigation, we use a GPS unit, which may or may not come with a built-in plotter (this allows us to plot a course, along with way-points and other fancy features). These units communicate with a network of satellites in geo-stationary orbit around the earth, allowing for amazing accuracy (up to a few feet).
For our basic communication, we use a VHF radio, and these days the fixed-mount models come with something called "DSC", otherwise known as "digital selective calling". What this means is that the radio is also able to transmit digital data such as a mayday message, along with our position (if the radio is connected up to a GPS unit), at the touch of a button. This saves precious time if lives are at risk.
There are limits to the range of transmission of a signal from a standard VHF unit however, especially from the middle of a vast ocean (due to the power required for transmission, as well as the curvature of the earth preventing the signal from reaching a land-based receiver). So how do we send an emergency call if the VHF radio is out of range? For regular communication, satellite phones come into their own - transmission of radio signals (these days the newer models include digital data transmission, such as email and internet) is directed up to a series of communication satellites, which relay the call on to land-based receivers. For emergency communication, some very special gadgets have been on the market for a while now, called EPIRBs, or "emergency position indicating radio beacon", and these can be manually or automatically activated when the unit is submerged in water. All ocean crossing vessels (including commercial vessels) should have these, and they have seved many lives. They work by sending out a radio signal, along with the position (by means of a built-in gps unit) at regular intervals, for a period of days.
Other pieces of useful electronic equipment include NAVTEX (navigational telex) - a unit that receives weather and navigation information from stations around the world. Radar is also highly desirable, especially in busy waters such as the English Channel, as it allows us to keep an "electronic eye" out on traffic.
We have most of this equipment on board, which increases our safety margin considerably, but all the technology in the world is useless if no-one knows how to use it. Fortunately, most of the crew have some level of experience using this equipment, so we can share our knowledge with those that don't.
Until next time....
Monday, 13 September 2010
Déjà vu
Sea voyages need a good dose of flexibility in their planning, and our trans-Atlantic trip is no exception. Due to some crew changes, a planned teambuilding trip to France this last weekend had to be cancelled, and instead we headed to Brighton, following the same route as last time. We were joined by a new team-member, Rob (who plans to explore South America on the other end of the voyage), and departed Eastbourne at around 15h00 on Saturday.
The weather and sea state was an almost carbon copy of our previous weekend, strong force 5 South Westerly breeze and wind against tide causing some green faces and lost lunches amongst 2 of the crew, but they proved their mettle and showed brave faces (after a cup of ginger tea). Being the last preparatory trip before departure to Falmouth, it was probably a blessing in disguise to get a bit more hardened to unruly weather. On approach to Brighton marina, the weather started clearing, and a gorgeous double rainbow announced our arrival.
It also gave me a chance to test the new route tracker (which can be accessed via a tab at the top of this page) - you can follow our progress to Brighton with short log entries for each point (just click on a marker). We intend to post our positions once a day on the crossing, so friends and family can see our progress.
The following day was bright with a variable light South Westerly, sea state slight, and we were joined by 2 more new crew members, Huw and Bernice (who also intend to explore South America), for the return trip to Eastbourne. As the wind was behind us, we opted to pole out the genoa, and set a preventer on the boom to keep the mainsail as far out as possible. With a favourable tide, we eased back along the coast, making good progress. We passed a couple of working boats that were laying a pipeline outside Newhaven harbour, but other than that we were able to relax in the sun and do some "cloudspotting"...
We rounded Beachy Head with an almost perfect "goosewing" rig set up (genoa poled out on one side and the mainsail setup on the other for downwind running) and made a good 7 knots to Eastbourne harbour entrance. After locking in, mooring up, and the ritual deck-scrub, we said our goodbyes with the knowledge that the next time we meet would be for the real thing.
Until next time....
The weather and sea state was an almost carbon copy of our previous weekend, strong force 5 South Westerly breeze and wind against tide causing some green faces and lost lunches amongst 2 of the crew, but they proved their mettle and showed brave faces (after a cup of ginger tea). Being the last preparatory trip before departure to Falmouth, it was probably a blessing in disguise to get a bit more hardened to unruly weather. On approach to Brighton marina, the weather started clearing, and a gorgeous double rainbow announced our arrival.
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| Double rainbow |
The following day was bright with a variable light South Westerly, sea state slight, and we were joined by 2 more new crew members, Huw and Bernice (who also intend to explore South America), for the return trip to Eastbourne. As the wind was behind us, we opted to pole out the genoa, and set a preventer on the boom to keep the mainsail as far out as possible. With a favourable tide, we eased back along the coast, making good progress. We passed a couple of working boats that were laying a pipeline outside Newhaven harbour, but other than that we were able to relax in the sun and do some "cloudspotting"...
We rounded Beachy Head with an almost perfect "goosewing" rig set up (genoa poled out on one side and the mainsail setup on the other for downwind running) and made a good 7 knots to Eastbourne harbour entrance. After locking in, mooring up, and the ritual deck-scrub, we said our goodbyes with the knowledge that the next time we meet would be for the real thing.
Until next time....
Monday, 9 August 2010
Brighton bound
In preparation for our Caribbean adventure, we made a round trip to Brighton from Eastbourne this last weekend, with a crew of Dave (skipper), Magda, Adrien and myself and Russell joining us for the return leg. We cast off at around 11h15 and caught the 11h30 lock, and so were underway by 12h00.
The weather was challenging - a grey sky and south westerly breeze varying between 15 and 20 knots, sometimes more; and with wind against tide (we left on an outgoing tide to take advantage of the flow towards Brighton) the sea state was lumpy, particularly around Beachy Head. But with a well-fuelled crew (sandwich-making while the helmsman was negotiating steep troughs wasn't without it's hazards, an unruly breadknife being one of them), and the odd conversation with Ralph, we managed a speed of up to 6 knots (even with a reef in), making Brighton by around 17h30.
After negotiating a packed visitors berthing area, we moored up and enjoyed the relative stillness of the marina (although Brighton itself was celebrating Pride weekend, so festivities could be heard in the distance). We watched a red sun set and chatted over a few beers and bottles of wine. A hot meal of pasta and tuna, followed by a hot shower, meant that sleeping bags were beckoning and Vega A was all asnore by midnight.
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| Marina sunset |
The following morning was bright, and the day's plan was to try and get the spinnaker up on the return trip to Eastbourne. After being joined by our 5th crew member, Russell, and a good breakfast of bacon sandwiches and coffee, we set off at around 11h00. The wind had turned to the north west, and conditions were a contrast to the previous day, with calm seas and a light breeze. Our first few attempts at raising the spinnaker were bungled, as none of the crew (except Dave who was helming) had raised a spinnaker before; but victory was eventually ours once we'd figured out the system of lines.
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| Beachy Head lighthouse |
Progress was slow with a fickle breeze and sailing against the tide, but we relaxed in the sunshine until we rounded Beachy Head, when we set the cruising chute and made better time into our home port of Eastbourne. We locked in at 17h30, and were moored up by 18h00. After scrubbing the decks and packing our gear, we said our goodbyes and headed home, tired but satisfied that we'd learned a lot and had a whole lot of fun.
As September approaches, our team is bonding well - a couple more weekends and we'll be a well-oiled machine ;-)
Until next time...
Wednesday, 23 June 2010
Respecting the Bay of Biscay
The second leg of our upcoming adventure will be the crossing from Falmouth to La Coruna, across the legendary Bay of Biscay. I must say that of all the legs (including the massive open Atlantic), this is the one that I am most wary of.
The bay stretches from Brest on the western coast of France, south to the Spanish border. From there it runs along the northern coast of Spain west to Punta de Estaca de Bares, forming a huge bay that is open to the weather systems moving in from the west. The worst of the weather arrives in winter, and what makes things more interesting is the continental shelf that rises from the depths of the ocean. This has the effect of increasing the height of the waves moving in from the open Atlantic. The combination of weather and waves can result in the fiercest of conditions.
With modern weather prediction, things are a lot safer than they used to be, but the reputation of the bay demands respect. And I'll certainly be acknowledging Neptune when we depart Falmouth...
The bay stretches from Brest on the western coast of France, south to the Spanish border. From there it runs along the northern coast of Spain west to Punta de Estaca de Bares, forming a huge bay that is open to the weather systems moving in from the west. The worst of the weather arrives in winter, and what makes things more interesting is the continental shelf that rises from the depths of the ocean. This has the effect of increasing the height of the waves moving in from the open Atlantic. The combination of weather and waves can result in the fiercest of conditions.
With modern weather prediction, things are a lot safer than they used to be, but the reputation of the bay demands respect. And I'll certainly be acknowledging Neptune when we depart Falmouth...
Tuesday, 1 June 2010
Trans-Atlantic Route
Hi Guys
Just a quick update to give an idea on the route - I've created a basic route in Google Maps - check it out on the right hand navigation bar. For a larger map, just click the "view in a larger map" link below the map.
More updates to come in the following weeks - we have some plans to do some team building trips to France and along the South Coast of the UK.
Until then...
Cheers
More updates to come in the following weeks - we have some plans to do some team building trips to France and along the South Coast of the UK.
Until then...
Cheers
Thursday, 20 May 2010
Exciting times!
Welcome to the first post of my upcoming adventure: sailing from the UK to the Caribbean, following the trade winds across the Atlantic. There'll be 4 of us, sometimes less, depending on the leg.
Our skipper is Dave Morgan, an Atlantic veteran, whose yacht "Vega A" will be our home for a few months.
For me this is the adventure of a lifetime, and although I have my own boat and sail when I can, I've always wanted to experience blue water sailing.
The initial plan is as follows:
Sept 26th - 29th: Eastbourne (UK) to Falmouth (UK) - 220 miles
Sept 30 - Oct 4th: Falmouth (UK) to La Coruna (Spain) - 480 miles
Oct 9 - 16th: La Coruna (Spain) to Porto (Portugal) - 250 miles; Porto (Portugal) to Sines/Lagos (Portugal) - 500 miles
Oct 20 –27th: Lagos (Portugal) to Gran Canaria (Canary Islands) - 700 miles
Nov ?: Trans-Atlantic (TBA) to Barbados
I'll post a Google map of the planned route in the next day or two, so keep visiting for the latest updates.
Cheers for now...
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