Joie de Vivre

A month has passed since we first set foot on La Graciosa, and what a wonderful month it has been. After our less-than-enjoyable passage here, a few weeks to wind down and relax on a pretty much deserted island was just what the doctor ordered. We decided, upon arrival, that we would have a proper 'holiday' before starting any of the boat DIY or looking for online contracts, and that is exactly what we did. It may seem odd to some, the idea that we would need a holiday… after all, we haven't worked for over six months now… how much more of a holiday do we need?! But, whilst we haven't worked in the traditional sense, for the most part we have been busier than we ever were when we worked full time and, when we aren't busy, we are feeling guilty about the never ending to-do list that begs for our attention. So, our holiday began.

The captain made light work of this humongous chocolate pastry

The morning after our arrival, Warren and Faye invited us for coffee and pastries on the waterfront. Given our love of fresh coffee, and the alternative being to begin tidying up the destruction that had taken place inside Firebird on our passage, it was an easy invitation to accept. We whiled away a good few hours chatting and enjoying the sunshine – it felt so good to be safe on dry land and be wearing shorts and flip flops! We met a Swedish friend of Warren and Faye's who works as a tour guide on the island, and were all invited back to Moonshine for some lunch following a brief tour of the essential shops and amenities in the village. The next couple of days continued along this theme, with us barely spending any time on Firebird at all. Finally, we decided that we simply had to buckle down and get her ship shape, so that we could once again relax and feel at home on her.

Firebird remained in this state for a few days after our arrival

Exploring the Canary Islands is really great fun. As well as exploring our immediate surroundings, we decided to take the local ferry across to Lanzarote for the day, on a mission to find two things; 1) a local Spanish SIM card, to enable us to use the internet and 2) an English breakfast. Of course, with Mr Mitchell on board, the mission priorities were soon reversed, and we set to work hunting down a breakfast that had been recommended by Warren, in Puerto del Carmen. The ferry journey across to Lanzarote was rather rough, as the wind had been picking up a lot over the course of the week, and the return journey even more so. In fact, the following day, all ferries to and from Graciosa were cancelled, so we were fortunate to have been able to get back on what was the last ferry of the day. Whilst on the ferry, climbing up and surfing down some pretty huge waves, both Alex and I remarked on how glad we were to be on the ferry rather than in Firebird (watch a video of the return crossing). At €20 return per person for a 20-30 minute journey, the ferry is probably a contender with the Isle of Wight ferries for being the most expensive per mile travelled. However, we both felt that it was money well spent on that occasion. We returned safely to Graciosa with SIM card in hand, following a successful mission and pleasant introduction to our neighbouring island.

Waves are much better when enjoyed from the safety of a beach

Even though we were still on holiday, there were some chores that really had to be done, such as the tidying of Firebird. Additionally, we desperately needed to thoroughly clean the interior walls, which had started to grow mouldy due to the amount of time we had spent condensated over the past couple of winter months in Spain and Portugal. It wasn't something we were much looking forward to but, actually, pottering about on Firebird on a nice sunny day was really quite enjoyable and we decided that we would give ourselves time off in lieu for our efforts. Another task we wanted to get done was investigating our engine troubles, especially as Warren had kindly offered to help us determine the cause of our problems. Once again, we actually really enjoyed this ‘chore’ as both Alex and I love to tinker with engines anyhow, and it was great to be able to learn so much from having Warren there with us. Even though the problem turned out to be nothing to do with the engine or fuel system, we felt very smug at having completed half of the scheduled engine service, with just the oil change remaining before we can be on our way again.

An interesting local plant, with Playa de las Conchas in the background

As always, we have been meeting a lot of new people whilst in the Canaries, many of them through Warren and Faye and a surprising number of them being French! One evening around Moonshine, the prevailing language being spoken was French which was quite tiring for me, given my French is very much limited to the level at which most of us Brits can converse upon school leaving age. And, of course, nobody was asking my name, age, or directions to the local bakery, so I was pretty much stuffed! However, I actually surprised myself as the evening went on with how much I could understand… I just wasn't really able to contribute to the conversation. Thankfully, Alex's French was on top form, and by the end of the evening he was explaining the difference between AC and DC to another yacht owner, and arranging to take a look at some battery issues she was having – honestly, nothing can keep him away from his love of batteries!

We have nicknamed this mountain Coffee Cup Mountain, as the pattern
on it looks like the one a barista might make on your latte

We have really begun settling into life ashore on this rugged, yet beautiful, island. Following our rather awful trip to get here, I suddenly feel like we have a new lease of life. I guess describing our trip as a 'near death experience' is rather over dramatic but, honestly, at the time when we were out there in such unknown and frightening conditions, I did question whether we would arrive safely and it was the most afraid I have ever been. On the back of that, I feel compelled to make the most of every day that I have, and it’s so much fun. We have started learning Spanish by listening to CDs every morning as we make breakfast, as we intend on being in this archipelago for a good while and would love to be able to converse properly with the locals. Alex has also been playing his harmonica more, and is getting rather good! Most evenings we cook our dinner on our awesome little BioLite camp stove, using wood that we collect from around the island.

Alex managed to bake a banana cake, using a frying pan on the BioLite

We have signed up for a run on Lanzarote in March, with Alex doing a half marathon and me a quarter marathon (just over 10k), so have been running around the island in training for that, as well as working out at the local "gym" (children's play area). Even the cold showers don’t seem quite so bad any more – when I'm shivering and cringing with just my head under the water and the wind giving me goosebumps, I remind myself that I'd rather be here than back in the midst of an Atlantic storm. And, of course, once you force yourself to plunge your entire body under the spray by lathering it up in soap, it is actually quite invigorating.

Alex works his guns on the swings. The kids who turned up
later to play looked highly unimpressed with us!

Our holiday is over now, but we are a bit sluggish on our return to 'work'. February is reputed to be the worst month here, weather-wise, and so we haven’t attempted to do any boat DIY. Of course, when I say the weather is bad, it is nothing in comparison to the UK. Temperatures are still 15-18°C at all times, it just gets quite chilly when the wind is blowing and the clouds cover the sun on their way past, occasionally offloading some of their water content as they go. We are still very much free from condensation and able to wash clothes outside on sunny days, and Alex refuses to change from shorts and flip flops into jeans and trainers, despite my weakness at returning to them at the first breath of wind. We have been making the most of the colder days by getting our hands back into development and updating our online profiles, in preparation for finding some remote work in the new financial year. It has been really enjoyable to get our heads back into some technical work, on our own terms and for enjoyment and the hope of making a bit of money, rather than because it’s what we have to do, 9-5 every day just to make ends meet.

A selfie on the beach. We considered asking someone else to take the shot,
but most people around us were naked so we chickened out!

We have a great deal to look forward to, in both the short and long term. We have been invited to sail to Lanzarote on Moonshine with Warren and Faye, which is extremely exciting, as we can learn a lot from their experience and will enjoy sailing on a larger vessel. We have friends and family coming to visit us on the islands of Lanzarote and Tenerife, so we will be on the move in Firebird again which will be fun. We have also been reading about the other Canary Islands, such as La Gomera and La Palma, which sound fascinating and definitely worth a visit.

A view from the beach to the marina on Graciosa

Beyond this, we have no firm plans, and we are perfectly happy with that. It feels great to be so content where we are right now, making the most of what we have and enjoying our time together. Our dream was to break free from the rat race and set sail on our boat, heading for Greece but seeing the world on the way. Almost on a daily basis we remind each other that this is it – we are living the dream! We have learnt so much on our journey here, and will no doubt have many more experiences ahead of us, from which we will learn more still. The most important thing is that we are here, enjoying life and making the most of every opportunity that comes our way. 

A panoramic shot from the northern breakwater at Caleta de Sebo

A Night (Not) To Remember

One final piri piri chicken before leaving

After nearly two months on the Algarve, waiting to cross to the Canary Islands, a usable weather window finally seemed to be opening up.  Each day we eagerly went back to the internet cafe to get the latest weather report, hoping that the forecast hadn't taken a turn for the worse.  It held true, so we filled our water tanks, stocked up on fresh stores from the local market, said our goodbyes to the friends we had made during our long stay in the lovely anchorage at Alvor and made Firebird ready to put to sea.

We had a 30 minute motor from the anchorage to get out to sea.  For some reason, as we made our way down the river, I was full of nerves and was apprehensive about our trip ahead.  I have never felt like this before when setting off on Firebird.  Maybe it was due to the fact that we had arrived at the anchorage in unpleasant conditions, leaving me with a bad memory of the water outside the river, or that we had been at anchor for so long, or that we had such a long journey ahead of us, but whatever the cause, I really didn't look forward to heading back out.  The fact that the sand banks in the river had shifted in the recent heavy swell rolling into the river mouth didn't help matters and we had to take things slowly, with Kate at the bow keeping a sharp eye out for shallows ahead.

The sea outside the breakwater was very calm, however, and once we had set the sails and pointed the self-steering towards Isla Graciosa, with the sun shining, I began to relax.  We were in for our longest trip to date, with the distance to cover being just over 530NM.

We made really good progress on the first and second days.  Slightly worryingly, though, the wind wasn't doing quite as forecast and we couldn't make our way far enough west.  We were still on course for Graciosa, but I had planned to get further out to sea because the wind charts showed some winds coming later in the week that would make it difficult for us to maintain our heading and which risked pushing us too far east.

Plenty of fresh fruit and veg, from the local market, to keep scurvy at bay

The following day, Wednesday, we got becalmed.  Although slightly frustrating, I didn't mind too much because it was actually a warm, sunny day, so I spent my time on watch relaxing in the sun, having a refreshing shower on deck, which was a first while underway, and watching several pods of whales that made their way lazily by, breathing loudly as they went (watch a video of the whales).

By the early hours of Thursday, the wind was back and we were on the move again with lifted spirits.  Apart from a large squall, the day passed uneventfully.  Unfortunately, that marked the end of the pleasant part of the journey.  The remainder of the voyage turned out to easily be the worst experience of either Kate or my lives.

The wind continued to blow stronger and stronger from Friday morning, the sky darkened into an oppressing mass of thick, tangled clouds and bit by bit, the swell increased.  Soon, we were fully reefed on the mainsail and, such was the look of the situation, we decided to hank on our storm jib.  We don't usually use this sail, which is made from very strong material and is barely bigger than an XL t-shirt, but going up to the foredeck to change the sail is not much fun at the best of times.  When it gets rough, it's downright horrid so we didn't want to have to go and do it again if the approaching weather did get as bad as it was looking.  To change a foresail, you see, you have to leave the safety and shelter of the cockpit and slowly make your way along the length of the boat, clinging on to whatever strongholds you can, trying not to get knocked off your feet as the boat rolls unpredictably beneath you, the wind tugs at your clothes, spray stings your eyes and your safety harness capitalises on every opportunity it can to tangle round your legs and trip you up.

Once you have made your way forward, you now have to scramble around on your hands and knees on the wet, slippery deck while the bow rises high over the crest of each wave before plummeting down into the trough behind.  With your weight all the way forward, the bow delights in being able to sink low enough to grab a nice scoop of water and throw it all over you.  As an added bonus, rising and falling this violently will soon make you feel seasick, so on top of everything else, you're now also trying to keep your lunch down.

When a sail is set, it is a graceful, elegant, docile creature, delighted to be out in the open air and happy to obey your every command.  When you start taking the sail down, however, it realises that it is going to get crumpled up and stuffed back into a smelly, damp, mildewy sail bag.  It then, quite understandably, starts to resist with all its might.  At the slightest loosening of the halyard, the sail turns into a writhing, hissing tangle of fabric and rope, resisting all attempts to grab hold of it and pull it down onto the foredeck, flicking just out of reach whenever you lunge for it, then countering your attack by whipping you in the face, striking with the speed and ferocity of an angered scorpion whenever you lower your guard.

Things starting to get lively.  It's blowing just over 30kts here.  No photos of the bad stuff later on because we were too busy changing into our brown-coloured trousers to avoid later embarrassment

We were as ready as we were going to get and now we just had to wait and see what was going to happen.  For several hours, we were flying along in 30 - 35 kts wind.  It was nice to be making such good progress, but worrying that we were at the upper limit of what we could comfortably handle with our current sail plan. As long as it didn't blow any harder, we would be just fine.  Guess what?  It blew harder.  We started to heel ever further and the anenomenter (wind meter) crept up to 40 kts.  Our mainsail's second reef was far too big for these conditions, so when Kate popped her head out of the hatch, prompted by the sudden increase in heel angle, I told her that it was time to drop the main.

Luckily, Kate was up on deck, we were both dressed in our wet weather gear and clipped on with our safety harnesses and ready to lower the main when the wind took another jump in speed.  In a breath, it was blowing 50+ kts (when I glanced at the anenometer, I saw 52).  The wind was howling around us and the noise it makes as it tears through the rigging at these speeds is truly frightening, hammering home just how much force the wind can deliver, as if you couldn't already tell by how hard it was to stand up and the punishment that poor Firebird was taking.  At this point we were heeled at about 70 degrees.  Before we had managed to release the main halyard, a large wave smashed into us, knocking Firebird completely flat in the water.  I was now standing on the side of the cockpit, where your back would usually rest if you were sitting down, with water covering my feet.  I looked down and thought how incredible it was that I was half a step away from a 4km drop to the ocean floor.  Worryingly, I could also see that a vent leading below decks was now submerged with water able to freely flow down it.  Kate, who had been at the foot of the mast about to release the main halyard, was now clinging to the mast as you might find a koala bear affixed to a eucalyptus tree, staring down into the ocean with her face a few inches above the water.

As terrifying as it was to be in this situation, the fright only lasted an instant and instead of being overrun by panic, we both felt immensely calm and found that we had total focus on the task at hand.  I felt almost like a puppet, aware of what I was doing, but not feeling as though I was driving myself to do it, as if someone else was pulling the strings.  Firebird was only laid flat in the water for a number of seconds, and as she started to right herself, we finished the job of lowering the mainsail.

Before the knockdown occurred, we had discussed our options and decided that pressing on was the best one.  With an additional 20kts of wind, this was no longer possible.  Without going into all the details, the overruling problem with the other choices was that, due to the unexpected wind direction up to this point in the voyage, we weren't far enough west and were now too close to the Moroccan coast for comfort.  This is a dangerous shore to approach in heavy weather and something that we would avoid at all costs, as we could be wrecked in huge breaking swell.  We weren't in any immediate danger, but we didn't know how long the storm would be blowing because we couldn't trust the weather forecast we had.  For now, though, the only thing for it was to bear off the wind and lose some of our sea room, hoping that the wind would die down or change direction before we got too far east.

I set the Hydrovane (self steering equipment) for the new heading and let Firebird turn onto her new course.  With our mainsail down, and heading with the wind, the ride became more comfortable.  I looked at the wind direction indicator and couldn't understand what I was seeing.  It said that we were still heading into the wind.  A look at the wind vane on top of the mast confirmed the true wind direction and revealed that the electronic sensor was missing - either blown away of washed off when we got knocked down.  I checked the compass to confirm our new heading and again couldn't understand the reading I saw.  Surely the compass wasn't broken as well?  A check of the GPS corroborated the compass' heading and we were now sailing on the best point of sail to ride out the storm and, incredibly, at that moment, the wind had veered by about 120 degrees so that our course on the new point of sail was still taking us directly towards the Canary Islands.

Kate is glad to be alive after the storm

Hugely relieved to be heading away form the Moroccan coast, there was nothing else to do than head below decks, close the hatch and hope for the best.  We spent the evening and all night in bed, trying to sleep, which was almost impossible with Firebird getting thrown about by large waves, hoping that nothing would break and trying to ignore the horrible sound of the sea punishing our hull.  We maintained a watch of sorts, but it was impossible to see anything out there because the waves were so big and even going over the top of one, the spray getting blown up reduced visibility to nearly nothing.  Even though we hadn't seen any other ships for days, it was still disconcerting to be sailing along so quickly without being able to see where we were going.  We were comforted by the fact that our AIS transponder would let any large ships know that we were there and we hoped that no other yachts were stuck out there with us.  To say that it was a long, scary night is something of an understatement.

The wind continued to blow hard for most of Saturday and when it did ease off, it backed and we had to get the mainsail up again to be able to maintain our course for the Canaries.  It was an unpleasant, squally evening and night and even though the weather wasn't half as bad as it had been the night before, we were both frightened whenever a squall blew through in case the weather took a turn for the worse again.  To top off the whole nightmare scenario, we were feeling seasick, partly because of how rough the seas were and partly because we were so worried the whole time.

I'm also glad to be alive, shortly before arriving

Through all this, however, we had the immense comfort of being able to talk to a very experienced good friend, Warren, on his boat with his wife, Faye, already safely moored ahead of us in the Canary Islands, using our SSB radio.  We talked twice a day and could give him our position report (in case the worst happened) ask his advice and generally be reassured by hearing a friendly voice crackling through the static of the airwaves.  The only thing that really kept us going once the storm had hit was that fact that Warren and Faye said they had visited the butchers and bought the most delicious, huge, pork steaks, which were in the fridge, ready to be tossed into a frying pan and served with all the trimmings as soon as we arrived.  We were eating very little and were not able to prepare any proper food due to it being so rough and because we felt sick.  After a week at sea, we were also looking forward to having showers and when we asked about this, Warren said not to worry, the facilities at the marina were open 24 hours.

Up with the Spanish courtesy flag once more.  Canary Islands in background

By Sunday, the weather had improved immensely and although there were squalls blowing through, bringing strong wind and rain, we could easily see them and prepare well before they were upon us.  Apart from that, we had favourable wind all the way up to the marina entrance on Graciosa.  You can imagine how excited we were when we could actually see the Canary Islands and watch them growing bigger by the hour as we approached.

As it turned out, we were incredibly lucky to be able to sail right up to the breakwater in light wind because just when we thought we were finally safe and could relax, as Kate dropped the mainsail and I put the engine into gear to take us into the marina, nothing happened.  The engine was running, but generating very little power.  I pushed the throttle further and further forward right up to full power but we were barely able to crawl forward against the gentle breeze and the whole boat was shaking in a most alarming manner, as though we were sailing a Magic Fingers Vibrating Bed borrowed from a sleezy 1970's American motel.  I'm sure that I would have been able to tow Firebird faster swimming than the motor was managing and we had a really hairy time getting through the breakwater, hoping that the engine held out long enough to avoid getting wrecked by the very rocks that we had come to seek shelter behind.  I sent Kate forward again to prepare the anchor for an emergency deployment in case we needed it and then we just sat tight while the fillings got shaken out of our teeth and Warren and Faye jumped up and down waving from ashore to welcome us, probably wondering why on earth we had decided to cover the last 50m at 0.5kts.

We managed to limp to our berth and I cannot express how much relief we felt as the warps were made fast and Firebird was finally safe, soaking up the Canarian sun on her deck.

Safely moored in the marina on Isla Graciosa

As for those showers we were promised, yes, they were open 24 hours, but what Warren hadn't had the heart to tell us while we were getting pasted out in the Atlantic was that they were freezing cold!  Never mind, getting cold and clean was preferable to remaining warm and pungent and the pork steaks more than made up for the icy dousing.  As we sat there eating the best meal we had tasted in a long while, in the company of such good people, we began to unwind and reflect on the ordeal we had been through to get here.

Being able to sail our home wherever we like, from country to country, is the greatest freedom we could ever hope to achieve.  Most of the time the sea is a beautiful place, full of wonderful, intriguing creatures and we are lucky to have the opportunity to experience it.  From time to time, though, this tranquil paradise turns into the most frightening place on Earth.  It's hard to believe that these are two faces of the same environment and when you're experiencing the one, it's almost impossible to believe that the other exists.

When making longer passages, it's inevitable that we will sometimes get unlucky with the weather.  What hit us this time, although terrifying, was by no means the worst the sea can do and we were thankfully able to survive with no damage to ship or crew.  Now that we have had a taste of the bad stuff, we have to decide whether all the pleasures that this life provides are worth the price that Poseidon can demand.  This experience will definitely be in our minds when we plan future passages and only time will tell how much influence it will have on our choices.  In the mean time, we're really enjoying being on Graciosa, with a renewed joie de vivre and strengthened respect for the oceans that we have chosen to travel.

Engine troubles?  Nope, it turned out to be fishermen troubles, with their blasted old nets tangled in our prop

If you recognise this rope, feel free come and get it back.  It comes with a complimentary piece of my mind

Christmas Presence

Well, let me start by wishing you all a very Happy New Year! It has been a little while since our last post, but you will be rewarded by two in quick succession over the next few days. I thought I would write this post to update everyone on our activities over the festive season, whilst my better half gets on with the juicy post covering our most recent passage from Portugal to the Canary Islands.

Alex and the boys enjoy our little stopover in Faro, before flying home

So, as you are all well aware, back in December we had been in Alvor for a fair old while and were getting rather restless and eager to move on. However, repeatedly checking the forecast did nothing to improve it for us and it was looking like we would be spending Christmas and the New Year on the Algarve. Of course, there are far worse places to be, but I started casually checking flight prices back to the UK, just to see if we might be able to afford a trip home. I was pleasantly surprised with finding flights for around £50 return each from Faro to Gatwick, provided we travelled before December 24th and after January 2nd. I ran my idea past Alex and, happily, he was very keen on it. We began to think about how much fun it would be to keep our families in the dark about our plans, letting them know at the very last moment by turning up on their doorstep.

We enjoy a picnic with Fran and Tim, from Springtide,
before heading back to England

And so it was; on Wednesday 18th December we got a lift ashore from Firebird with Tim (from the boat Springtide), so that we didn't have to leave our dinghy on the pontoon for the next fortnight. Tim kindly let us row ourselves ashore in his wooden tender, which was great fun although we could do with some more practice... our coordination left a little to be desired. We certainly won't be winning any boat races any time soon! We headed off to Faro to spend the night in a lovely little bed and breakfast, costing only €15 for the night, including free WiFi, unlimited coffee from the machine in the kitchen and fresh rolls for breakfast. But, most importantly, a long hot shower. Bliss. We had a lovely relaxing evening before our early morning flight back to the UK.

Firebird, looking very secure on Teade's mooring buoy in Alvor

Before leaving Firebird in Alvor, we hooked her up to a mooring buoy which a kind Dutch guy called Teade let us borrow, as his catamaran is on a hard standing until March whilst he is chartering in the Caribbean. We felt happy to leave her on this buoy as it was new and strong, and a couple of friends at the mooring said they would keep an eye on her for us. Before leaving, we diligently closed all our stop cocks to ensure that Firebird wouldn't sink if for some reason we sprang a leak on some of the internal plumbing. Half way to Faro, the penny dropped and Alex realised that we had stupidly closed the two stop cocks at the stern of the boat which allow the cockpit to drain! We felt so foolish, but didn't have time to go back and just had to hope that Alvor didn't get record amounts of rain whilst we were away. Thankfully, on our return, there was only about 70mm of rainwater sloshing around in the cockpit, so not enough to cause any problems.

We visited a few friends whilst back, including Tim and Amy, with
whom we thoroughly enjoyed playing "The London Game"

We arrived back in London and headed straight for a coffee on Fleet Street, to await Alex's family's return from work later that evening. It was a real pleasure to be back in the big smoke, surprisingly - I found that I had quite missed seeing the city's many impressive sights; St. Paul's Cathedral, the Thames, the Houses of Parliament, the Eye, the buses... I could go on and on. Additionally, we found it to be a real luxury to be fluent in the local language, and be able to order exactly what we wanted in cafes and restaurants! However, as nightfall drew in before 16:00 and we started getting chilled to the bone by the biting wind, we remembered why we had left and headed south.

Alex standing on the walkway at Marine Lake, Weston-super-Mare

Surprising our families was the highlight of the trip. First, we surprised Alex's sister Lucy by turning up on her doorstep and ringing the bell. Unbeknownst to us, she was in the shower getting ready for a dinner party and so was a little flustered at having to jump out and answer the door, believing that perhaps it was some guests arriving far too early! Her face was a picture; one that you will soon be able to see, as we filmed all of the surprises and they will be appearing on the YouTube channel once Alex has finished editing them.

We got to meet Alex's mum's adorable
new Border terrier pup - Bertie!

From Lucy's, we headed around the corner to spring the same surprise on the original Mr and Mrs Mitchell. Alex called his dad for a chat and ascertained that they were both at home, before simultaneously ringing the doorbell to add to the confusion. Alex's mum came to answer the door and, upon opening it, did a sterling impromptu job of containing her surprise so that Ian didn't hear! We burst into the kitchen and announced that we were crashing Christmas - he was gobsmacked and they were very happy to see us, as we were them.

The Mitchells had a lovely New Year's Eve meal,
before going to watch the London fireworks

Next on the list was my brother. Lucy had been invited to a Christmas party at Ben's apartment on the Saturday evening, so we hatched a plan that involved us turning up with her, unannounced. She rang the buzzer on arrival and was let into the building, at which point Alex and I took the lead up the stairs, filming, of course. Ben's face was an absolute corker - his jaw just dropped open with surprise, which neither myself nor Alex have ever seen before! It was so great to see him, and we enjoyed the rest of the evening socialising and eating lots of Christmas party food.

Me and Ben with our Spanish cousins, John and Kelly,
at a Christmas family gathering in Bristol

The following day, Ben and I got the train from Paddington to Weston-super-Mare, where Mum and Dad were to be collecting Ben from the station. When they arrived, Ben went to the car first acting completely casual and, after a few seconds, I jumped out from my hiding place and ran up to show my face! Just as Ben and I had predicted, Mum started crying, bless her! Dad looked thoroughly bewildered, too - it took a good half an hour for it to sink in properly, I think. Many more surprises followed; my nan, my sister Trace, cousins, friends, extended family... we never tired of seeing people's reactions!

Alex gets a lift back to Firebird

On the 4th January, we flew back to Faro and headed back to Firebird. It was really great to back on board, after getting a lift with a local chap who happened to be heading out with a friend in a little boat. We stayed for one more week in our anchorage, before finally seeing a weather window that we thought would get us safely to the Canaries. It was a very enjoyable final week, and I'm pretty certain that it won't be the last time we see Alvor. All in all, we had a fantastic stay in Portugal and feel really lucky that our delayed departure from there gave us the chance to return to England and spend some quality time with those we love.

Our friend Pedro, from Alvor, took us ashore and taught us to catch
razor clams on our last week in Alvor. It was such fun, and we caught eight!

Mad Dogs & Englishmen

I have previously mentioned how many stray dogs there are in this part of Portugal, which I first discovered while out on a run.  Since that troubling experience, whenever I'm on foot, I am keeping a keen eye out so I can spot the dogs in time to avoid them.  Occasionally, one slips through the net and I stray far enough into his territory to pique his interest.  The dog will then inevitably run up to me, barking.  Never having owned a dog, the problem I have is that I don't understand their behaviour, so I can't tell if a dog is approaching in a friendly manner, expecting to play games and have his tummy rubbed, or whether he's looking to sink his teeth into my flesh and maul me to death.  It seems sensible to always assume the worst of these two scenarios and, consequently, every time a dog approaches, I'm scared stiff.

Free oranges picked from a tree growing by a road we walked along

More often than not, the dogs do little more than spend some time barking and don't kill me.  I have to pretend to not be scared, though, because people always say that dogs can sense fear.  I don't know if you have ever tried not being scared while actually feeling terrified, but it's no mean feat and as I saunter down the street, whistling nonchalantly as I go, I usually end up feeling even more scared.  This is because, on top of being worried about getting attacked, I'm now also concerned that I'm either not doing a sufficiently good job of acting casual, or that I'm overdoing it and the dog will know that I could never possibly be this relaxed anywhere other than while being pampered in a five star spa and he will spot the ruse.  Thoughts about why a dog would attack me if I'm scared also cross my mind, for example, if it is so important to be unafraid of a creature, lest it immediately jump at your throat and end your days prematurely, surely this beast is the perfect candidate for a healthy dose of fear?

More free citrus fruit: A tangerine tree at a local train station

In any case, above is a description of my usual canine interactions.  However, on two occasions now, something most odd and unexpected has occurred.  While out walking, Kate and I have been come across dogs that have wholeheartedly adopted us without the slightest input on our parts.  In fact, I'm usually fully engaged in the 'no look, no touch, no eye contact' technique and offer absolutely no reason for these dogs to attach themselves to us.  The only thing I can think of that would prompt this behaviour is that my act of serene fearlessness is convincing enough that they pick up on my unearthly relaxed vibe and feel so completely uncompelled to attack me that they conclude that I must be their master.

Kate has already mentioned, in an earlier post, the first dog that adopted us.  She was a little cutie who simply joined us on our walk, running ahead to check the way, sniffing here and there and then reporting back to us.  After this had continued long enough for me to convinced myself that she wasn't a threat, I plucked up the courage to stroke her, albeit in tentative manner such as you might stroke an unexploded landmine, and the friendship blossomed.

Me rowing back to Firebird.  Notice the wreck moored against the pontoon (left)

The most recent adoption occurrence happened while walking back from a nearby town, Portimão, where we had gone to source spare parts for the boat.  We had stopped to check our map when this rather scrawny looking dog sniffed around our feet.  That was all it took.  From that point on, he obediently stuck by our side.  I didn't graduate to the stroking phase with this little guy because I never felt that safe around him.  He looked on edge, as though he was a drug addict itching for his next fix, always on a knife edge between managing to remain composed and freaking out.  The weird thing was that he seemed to think that we were at threat from passing cars.  It was nighttime and traffic was light.  Whenever he heard a car approaching, he would position himself between us and the car and crouch down into a defensive posture.  As the car drew near enough for it to 'threaten' us, he would attack in the most fearless manner.  It was lucky that traffic was light, because many of the car drivers got a right shock and swerved off course.

The conveniently-positioned wreck, as seen from the water.  If you moor your dinghy there at high water, you will have a surprise on your hands when you return at low water and find it impaled on the sunken fishing boat

We were scared that, while in his attack-mode-frenzy, he might accidentally turn on us.  I was in fits of uncontrollable laughter, partly out of nervousness and partly because what was happening was so bizarrely funny.  The height of my amusement came when our protector went for a cyclist.  The cyclist didn't see him coming at all, so the dog just suddenly materialised out of the shadows at the cyclist's feet in a tumult of barking and growling.  The cyclist jumped right out of his skin while I, and the cyclist's mate, further up the road who saw the whole thing unravel, clutched at our stomachs and tried not to collapse from laughing so hard.

The embarrassing thing was that this dog really looked like our dog.  When he wasn't busy attacking passing vehicles, he would trot obediently to heel.  Thus, it looked like we were responsible for this four legged terrorist and were irresponsibly failing to control his madness as chaos broke out on the road next to us.

Our misty anchorage this morning

As we approached the built up outskirts of Alvor, the dog started to get very agitated and didn't seem to want us to proceed into the town.  I suspect that he has maybe had bad experiences with cars and while being in towns, and therefore thought that we needed to be protected from both.  We didn't know what to do because, if we proceeded into Alvor, he got worked up into such a state, but we couldn't very well stand at the town's perimeter all night.  In the end, we ducked into the first shop we came to, a small supermarket, and spent absolutely ages picking up a few essentials in the hopes that he would have got bored and wandered back off into the night, which is what happened.  I felt bad that we couldn't say goodbye to him, or thank him for so valiantly protecting us from all of his perceived dangers, but I was very relieved that the problem was solved.

With what spare mental capacity remained while the rest of my brain was consumed by fear, I created a short, badly shot video of the anxious dog as we approached Alvor.  Watch it on YouTube.

The Rocky Road to Paradise

"Paradise? But how can that be?", I hear you ask. The last thing you heard, we were in Portugal waiting for the weather to take us on to the Canaries, and you've seen no AIS activity to tell you otherwise. And what on earth do rocky roads have to do with sailing? Well, let me get you up to speed. The truth is that we are still in Portugal and, whilst we had hoped to be sunning ourselves in Isla Graciosa by now, we have no complaints whatsoever about being stuck on the Algarve. Not now that we have discovered the delights of Alvor.

The view from Firebird, whilst anchored in Alvor

Two weeks ago, after saying goodbye to my parents, we were due to leave Lagos Marina on the Saturday afternoon. Staying longer would have cost us around 15 Euros per night; money that we would rather spend elsewhere. Ideally, we would have headed straight out of the marina and south to the Canary Islands, but the forecast was looking unsettled. We would have been blessed with two days of ideal conditions, followed by a day or two of being becalmed and, finally, been heading into some rather unsavoury south-easterlies. We would rather, we decided, wait for a good spell of northerlies, which would be bound to turn up soon. So, we packed up and headed out of the marina to anchor back in Lagos Bay, which we had enjoyed immensely prior to our shore leave.

Flamingos, which we spotted on our walk along the river from Alvor

However, we hadn't even reached the harbour entrance before Firebird started bouncing around on some rather large waves. As we looked ahead to the seas beyond the entrance, we realised that we would be in for a bumpy night in the bay. Oh, what an understatement! We managed to drop anchor amongst some really huge waves, as the light faded to the west of us. Poor Alex was at the bow being thrown up and down at least a couple of metres, deploying the anchor whilst I struggled to keep Firebird under control for him. How on earth he managed to return to put up the anchor ball and light I don't know, but thankfully he did. We hadn't really prepared below decks for such a rocky ride, and so there was some amount of tidying to be done, whilst struggling not to fall over. By now, we were both feeling seasick and had to lie down on the bed, hoping for it to subside. It didn't.

This little kitten seemed so cute...
but, boy, did he hiss when I attempted to stroke him!

For the best part of the next two days we were bedridden, as the swell refused to relent and we both felt too ill to face returning to the marina. I managed to leave the bed on two or three occasions to cook us some food, but it was a lengthy process. Prepare food, back to bed. Start cooking, back to bed. Remove from stove, back to bed. Dish up and bring back to bed. Eat food. Wait. Either sigh with relief at not feeling sick or regret ever eating the food, which is now in danger of reappearing. Aside from that, we brought my small laptop into bed with us and watched an episode of George Clark's Amazing Spaces every now and then. As we started to feel a little better, we joked about our 'bed-cation', which was actually quite fun, as far as seasickness goes! Usually, being seasick goes hand in hand with just three hours sleep alone, before being rudely awakened for a three hour watch in undoubtedly rough conditions. To be able to be ill together and not need to do anything apart from stay in bed was actually a real luxury!

The waves crashing on to Alvor beach created this sand cliff all the way along!

We had been told about the anchorage at Alvor, which was meant to be very sheltered and a lovely little town, so we decided to head there early Wednesday morning. We were a little wary of entering the anchorage as there is around two miles of shallow channel that must be navigated, and our depth sounder hasn't worked for the past few months now. We entered cautiously on a rising tide, following a chart, our GPS position on Google maps and the pilot manual. Thankfully we made it to the anchorage without hitting any of the sand banks and we anchored in perfectly calm conditions, at the start of what was looking like a lovely sunny day. After tidying up Firebird, we had a look around the area and the yacht next to us seemed familiar. A Dutch registered vessel called Lily. Suddenly, I remembered that we had been anchored next to her at Cascais!

Lily leaving the anchorage, heading to Morocco

Lily's crew emerged on deck and we began chatting, before being invited over there for coffee. We introduced ourselves to Siv and Henry, and also to a British chap named Tim who had popped past in his nice yellow tender. We spent a good few hours aboard Lily, getting to know Siv and Henry, before all being invited over to Tim and his wife Fran's impressive wooden boat, Springtide, which Tim rebuilt himself over nine years after buying her as a complete shipwreck. What a wonderful start to our stay in Alvor, which has turned out to be a very sociable place.

A waterfront view of the moorings in Alvor, as the sun fades

Aside from the social aspects of being anchored here, we have discovered a good many benefits of this peaceful little haven. Firstly, it is incredibly sheltered and calm, meaning that for the first time we can row Trinity ashore rather than needing to use our outboard. Additionally, there are a couple of pontoons which we can tie up to when going ashore, meaning that we don't need to worry about landing on a beack and getting wet feet, at best, or completely soaked. Another benefit of the calm is that we have been able to get plenty of jobs done on the boat, which can often be difficult when in a rocky anchorage.

Alex looking rather pleased with himself for spotting this stranded jellyfish.
Neither of us were brave enough to carry him back to the water...

We have found ourselves with plenty of time to explore, and have enjoyed lengthy walks in the sunshine along the river heading inland and along the glorious beach. Alex found a little friend on one of our walks; an adorable dog who decided to accompany us for the entire walk, as if she belonged to us! She seemed to just enjoy being with us, especially when we stroked her and gave her lots of attention. She did not, however, seem too impressed with Alex's attempt to play fetch with her. I don't think anyone had ever taught her that it was fun to chase after a stick and bring it back to the thrower, so she just looked at Alex as if he had gone a little loopy when he tried.

Alex with his furry friend

The town of Alvor is, in itself, delightful, with music from an accordion emanating from the town square every lunchtime. There is a lovely farmer's market on the weekend from which we bought a load of fresh produce which was very cheap, and the locals are all very friendly and happy to help. We have met a number of individuals from boats moored here permanently, who have all been very interesting and keen to give us directions, advice... and even a tow to the pontoon to save Alex from rowing! We have found a number of great places to go for coffee or food, including a little bar called Panda which does a 'Prato do Dia' for only 7 Euros each! This included bread, olives, a drink, a main meal, a dessert and a coffee - incredible value and delicious food. Finally, we were told that the local sports centre was a good spot for a shower, and we made full use of the pool too by both swimming for well over an hour, which felt great.

We had fun creating a little pool by building a dam on the beach

So, as we look forward to next week and see the forecast is still abysmal, we aren't sighing too hard at the prospect of being "stuck" here a while longer. Sure, we are keen to get to the warmth of the Canaries, especially as we hope to see our friends on their yacht Moonshine in Isla Graciosa before they move on, but we aren't going to be taking any risks in order to get there. We are quite content in our little safe haven, listening to the crashing waves on the beach beyond the sand banks, feeling rather smug that we have found this little piece of paradise and have the time to just enjoy it.

One of many glorious sunsets, watched from the waterfront in Alvor

Shore Leave

Birthday boat trip

We have been off Firebird for the past two weeks, taking a nice holiday ashore with Kate's parents, staying in their apartment near Lagos, Portugal, while poor Firebird has been left to her own devices in the marina.  Firebird wasn't totally forgotten, however, as we took Mike on a surprise boat trip for his birthday.  We managed to get him onto the boat without letting on that we would be going out sailing for the day by saying that we had to pick something up that we had forgotten.  He was most excited when we then slipped the lines and motored out of the marina!

It was really nice to relax for a couple of weeks.  'Viewers at home' would be forgiven for thinking that we spend our days lazing around while on this trip.  In fact, we have hardly had any time to ourselves since we left as there is a huge list of equipment to be installed and improvements to be made.  When we do take time out from working through this list, we feel guilty about doing so, which means that even our time away from the chores never feels very relaxing.  Taking this break off Firebird meant that it was impossible for us to do boat work, so we could put all our effort into relaxing.

Lots of washing to do

One chore we did do, however, was clothes washing.  Lots and lots of it.  We hadn't done any since leaving Coruna, our first stop in Spain, which was quite some time ago.  When we're further south and the weather is consistently warmer, it won't be a problem to wash clothes on deck in buckets, but up to this point, with warm days being limited, when we have had one, we have done other things with it, such as showering.  I'm not sure how many loads we put through, but needless to say that we have now fully stress-tested the machine in Chris & Mike's apartment.

During our shore leave, we visited a castle, went to a pirate exhibition, ate more than we probably should have, spoiled ourselves in a spa and spent time with two of Kate's aunts and their families, Sher and Sue.

My only regret and mistake during these two weeks was to go for a run.  It turns out that in this area of Portugal, there are a lot of dogs.  There are stray dogs, badly trained pet dogs, guard dogs that are chained up, guard dogs that aren't chained up, guard dogs that appear to be fenced in, but actually have secret escape holes in the fence.  Basically, all types of dogs in all shapes and sizes.  All these dogs are bound together into a tight fraternity sharing one common activity that delights them above all else: Chasing runners and barking at them like crazy.  Now, I don't like unknown dogs at the best of times, but when they're running at you as though they're going to rip you limb from limb, miles away from the nearest medical attention while some of them look like they haven't had a good meal in months, it's safe to say that I positively cannot stand them.

My tactic for dealing with these attacking dogs, which seems to have worked seeing as I'm still intact, was to continue running, but slow right down so that I was virtually running on the spot.  My reasoning was that I didn't want to move quickly, lest I excite their predatory instinct, but neither did I want to stop and face them, in case they weren't after a good chase, but were just defending their territory, in which case I wanted to keep moving onward to give them the impression that their barking was a great success in making me clear off their land and they did not need to escalate matters and resort to biting to make me go away.  Whatever they were after, I will not be going back to conduct conclusive experimentation on the matter.

We're now back on Firebird, at anchor in Lagos, waiting for a weather window to cross to the Canary Islands.

Kate, aunt Sher, Paul, Richard & Hayley enjoying coffee at Lazy Jacks

A nice relaxing hot tub at the spa

A merman in the pool at the spa

Giants defending the entrance to the castle in Silves

Mike found a bottle that said 'Drink Me', so he did

The magic genie

Long John Silver being less than hospitable