tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62543115356518272952023-11-15T23:58:43.079-08:00Yacht Sula... gets aboutOur cruising life and other adventures Sula .... gates abouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02875245094074753279noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254311535651827295.post-52384805161781785942023-09-29T10:07:00.005-07:002023-09-29T10:28:57.806-07:00LIFE, DEATH AND BOATYARDS...... THE START OF A NEW ADVENTURE<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">September 2023</h2>
<br />
Looking back at the preparations, it seems almost implausible that it should have been such hard work. I feel sure that friends and family must have been wondering what all the fuss was about. I mean, you’re giving up work and getting ready to swan off… get a grip!<br /><br />
But, as ever, it’s not quite that simple.
It’s often not easy to pinpoint the moment a journey starts. Obviously well before the physical point of departure, which we finally achieved, sailing gently away from Wearde Quay on an ebbing tide on the morning of 16 September. I don’t recall a specific moment that it was conceived, but even returning from our last outing in 2017, it was understood that we would be heading out again.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
Six years of land-based life has felt like a long time, but when we headed home the last time, it felt like the right choice. Brexit had happened, leaving Lucia’s citizenship status worryingly undefined and my mum was showing increasing signs of the dementia that was to steadily erode her memory, confidence, independence and ultimately her whole personality over the proceeding years.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
So, on returning, we set about the things to be done. Lucia got to work on the byzantine British citizenship application process, we persuaded Mum to relocate to Devon; the decision clear after she woke with the fire brigade hammering on her door and the house full of smoke. Meanwhile, Lucia chose one of the several job offers and I, having decided I was no longer fit to be an employee, set up as an independent consulting engineer. Beatrice started school in the tiny but perfectly formed Doddiscombesleigh Primary.
Sula lived quietly on her mooring at Wearde, and we managed a few weeks of sailing each Summer which is the usual unsatisfactory way of keeping a cruising boat in the UK. </div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Covid happened to us all and that was when we really lost Mum. Unable to visit for such an extended time inevitably meant that she didn’t know me when we were finally allowed to return. It did also bring us Joseph, a new grandson, even though we were unable to visit for a painfully long time.
After a critical piece of legal advice confirmed that Lucia was eligible for citizenship without further delays, the prospect of another trip began to take form and in August of 2022 we had Sula hauled out in Mountbatten to be repainted, have new deck anti-slip and new arch fitted to mount a bigger solar array, together with a raft of other maintenance and improvement jobs. </div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The boatyard stay should have lasted about 4 months and we organised accordingly; winding down Stothert Consulting Engineers and giving notice to school and employer. In our perfect plan, this would have had us putting the final preparations together in April and May and casting off in June of 2023.
12 months later, after 6 months of badgering, argument and stress, we finally got Sula back. Leaving us with a race against time to finish our own preparations, sorting out all the lost, broken and variously imperfect results of the refit before we could begin looking for a late weather window to get south of the seemingly endless stream of Atlantic depressions that had been assaulting the UK through July and August. </div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">September also included a return to the boatyard to replace antifouling that was flaking off and fixing leaking diesel (out) and seawater (in).
Finally ready to depart and lying as we are, storm-bound in the River Fal waiting for fair winds for Biscay, it’s possible to reflect that in the way of ill winds, some good has come from our months of delay. </div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Shortly before our last big departure, my father had died. The end had been quite sudden, albeit probably a decade later than we had all expected and it had all the significance that finally losing an elderly and much-loved parent inevitably does, but it left us freer to sail away than we would otherwise have felt. There are always reasons not to leave, some more difficult than others to overcome, and leaving Mum was a particularly hard one for me. I had been rationalising it on the basis that she didn’t know who we were anyway and would presumably not be aware of our absence. Also, she was a great long-distance sailor and would have wanted for us to go…. But still.
Then in the Spring of this year, she had a series of chest infections which softened her up for the final one and she slipped away at the end of May. </div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Selfishly, it was something of a relief of course, but as anyone who has been close to Alzheimer’s will know, there was also not much of who she was to finally say goodbye to. We buried her in a woodland plot on the edge of Dartmoor and felt happy that she has such a beautiful place to rest. </div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">And finally. In August, Ryan and Yasmin brought us a new grandson Flynn. Gorgeous to behold and difficult to leave behind, knowing that we will miss so much of his, Joe and Phoebie’s growing. But there’s some things that just have to be done…. So, how long until the next weather update? <br /><br /></div>Sula .... gates abouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02875245094074753279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254311535651827295.post-80142057056172094492016-04-08T12:45:00.000-07:002016-05-07T12:49:11.895-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
Menorca</h2>
<br />
The gale wasn't as severe as forecast and didn't reach much over 30knots, so all was relaxed if occasionally a little noisy on board for the following couple of days. Hopefully this summer won't be a repeat of last year with respect to the number of blows that we've sat out. Hopefully being much further south and east this should be the case.<br />
<br />
The fortifications around Mahon are simply extraordinary. Particularly around our anchorage which is in a backwater of the harbour next to La Mola, the fort built by us Brits in 1870 or so and later used during the Spanish civil war and WWII and finally as a prison which it was until quite recently. Apparently Franco was still executing undesirables there by firing squad up until 1972.<br />
<br />
While Franco clearly has quite a bit to answer for, we are told that he hated Menorca with a passion, as it was the last part of Spain to fall during the civil war. The consequence of this is that it was starved of government funds and thus escaped much of the development that has occurred elsewhere in the Balearics. Fortunately by the time those restrictions were lifted, it's ecological value had been realised and prevented much subsequent indiscriminate development. <br />
<br />
Hence there are great swathes of nature reserve to wander in and an extensive network of paths. We strolled around the deserted and slightly eerie fortifications of La Mola with Ricky and Donna from S/Y Patience and then escaped up the coast to Isla Colom which we had more or less to ourselves apart from several hundred nesting gulls.</div>
Sula .... gates abouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02875245094074753279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254311535651827295.post-41879218989027254682016-04-03T12:44:00.000-07:002016-05-07T12:49:11.893-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
Beautiful Baleares</h2>
<br />
I have to admit to being just a little grumpy about coming into the Med this Summer, knowing from experience that the winds are fickle and the sailing involves a good proportion of motoring. However I am forced to acknowledge that so far we've had some really good sailing. Maybe this is a factor of being on the go this early in the season, which while it involves a few cool days, does also have the advantage of being blissfully quiet in an area which is notoriously overcrowded with boats in the Summer.<br />
<br />
When a decent weather window for the passage out to Ibiza from Moraira finally arrived, we had a great sail out and arrived to find our planned anchorage in the island of Espalmador north of Formentera completely empty, which it more or less remained for the next week as we roamed the beach and island. We indulged our beach combing fetish and managed to find 3 good snorkelling masks, a beach bucket for Beatrice, a pair of ear defenders a buoy for our tripline and a crab pot which was unfortunately a bit big to salvage..... and 5 Euros in change all found by Lucia in various locations on the sand. It has to be said that all this haul was amongst a lot of plastic garbage which we tried to round up over the days we were there.<br />
<br />
Our preconceptions of Ibiza are of non stop clubbing and indiscriminate tourist development but as we cruised from Espalmador around the West and then North coasts we saw precious little evidence of either. San Antonio, where we had to stop for a South Westerly, was undistinguished but apart from that Ibiza seemed to be mostly unpopulated wooded hills. We joined forces with the crew of No Worries and worked our way along the spectacular coastline, stopping in a series of unspoilt inlets (calas, or calais as they became known). After seeing the No Worries crew swimming, I finally braced myself to go in to clean the hull which was fairly furry after a winter in Aguadulce. It took three sessions on consecutive days, with me crawling out borderline hypothermic on each occasion and taking a couple of hours to properly warm up, but the hull is now considerably more slippery which really makes a difference to our sailing speed.<br />
<br />
We had hoped to explore Mallorca more than we ultimately did, but we we were beginning to feel the constraint of meeting Lucia's brother Gigi in Menorca. These kind of fixed dates are always more of a restriction than is at first apparent because you can't really risk leaving it too tight as the weather, particularly here at this time of year, is somewhat volatile and there is always the chance of ending up being forced to make passages in less than ideal conditions. So we left Mallorca and parted company with No Worries to cross to Menorca ahead of a forcast gale from the north.<br />
<br />
However, in spite of the slight rush, and after yet another fine day's sailing from Porto Colom, we now find ourselves tucked up snugly in Mahon and feeling pleased to be this far east this early in the year and with a day in hand to prepare for two days of forecast 30-40 knots wind.</div>
Sula .... gates abouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02875245094074753279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254311535651827295.post-19469151769719701582016-03-10T12:42:00.000-08:002016-05-07T12:49:11.891-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
2016 – Back on the road again</h2>
<br />
We quite like cats. As some will know we even used to have a ship's cat before we decided to drop him back in Devon.
However, even we have our limits.<br />
<br />
Aguadulce turned out to be a pretty good choice as a winter stop. We pitched up there in Early December after rejecting Almerimar as being sad and soul-less. It has to be said that there's not a lot to Aguadulce. Scenic it's not, but it does feel a little more like a real town than a purpose built holiday/retirement/golf complex which is what Almerimar clearly is. The staff in the marina office, principally Jessica, are super efficient and helpful and the facilities work and are clean. There isn't a huge number of live-aboards there, but our near neighbours on one side Derek and Juanita and on the other Pablo and Miriam were lovely.<br />
<br />
Most of this coast is backed by mountains which are dry and brown and mostly devoid of vegetation apart from olives and scrub. The coastal strip however sports a lush crop of polytunnels. There must be hundreds of thousands of acres of them, growing everything from carrots and tomatoes to papaya, avocado and mango. In some places there's a sea of shining plastic as far as you can see, which isn't pretty but the upside of this we discovered in the Thursday market in Roquetas de Mar, a couple of Km down the coast from us, where the huge range of fruit and veg must be amongst the cheapest in Europe. Is there such a thing as vitamin C poisoning? If so we must be nearing the limit.<br />
<br />
So the only real downside was the cats.<br />
<br />
We never counted them, but at a guess there were around 40 in our little herd. I suppose even that wouldn't have been too bad except for the inevitable by product of cats..... most of which, despite my hosing them down whenever possible, they seemed to deposit in the planting strip just in front of us. The smell was powerful.<br />
<br />
There was a seemingly endless stream of folks who would stroll down the quayside and strew catfood around for them, out of pity for the poor starving beasts, each presumably imagining they were the only ones doing so. Hence all the cats did was to lounge around waiting for the next food delivery and....make more cats.<br />
<br />
Lucia commenced a campaign of terror against the feeders, to not feed them or, if they really had to, then at least not to do it near us. Predictably, it had little effect and culminated in the worst offender threatening her with his stick. Thankfully, shortly before our departure they started disappearing. Nothing to do with me, though I can't in all honesty say I wasn't tempted.<br />
<br />
The winter weather in Almeria isn't dissimilar to Summer on the south coast of England, but with less rain, so it wouldn't have difficult to carry on cruising throughout. However we had been ready to stop for a rest when we did, after a longish season starting from our crossing from Holland in April. But after 3 months being stationary, including a month in Italy with family and ski-ing, it felt like time to start moving again. <br />
<br />
So on 2rd March we said our goodbyes and headed out across the bay.<br />
<br />
A series of (generally) picturesque rolly anchorages took us to Cartagena, where we explored for a few days waiting for weather and socialising. It had felt like we were the only ones out sailing but there were two already there from Gibraltar. The irrepressible Andrew and Steph on Carousel, and the lovely but apparently slightly accident prone ? And ?<br />
<br />
We curiously also met Nick and Jen and their two boys from No Worries. I should really stop being surprised at the coincidences we come across.... as they seem to happen so regularly, but I just can't quite manage it. Before leaving Aguadulce, I had flown back to the UK for my daughter Lauren's wedding to Matt. At the wedding I had chatted to amongst others Simon, Matt's brother in law. It turns out that Simon is Nick's oldest friend and Godfather to one of the boys. Now, I still can't quite figure whether this type of coincidence is anything really very improbable... but what intrigues me more is that we happened upon the connection quite by chance after chatting for an hour or so. How many more of these kinds of connections are there but missed?<br />
<br />
We motored most of the 25miles around the corner from Cartagena to Mar Menor, managing to dump about 200litres of fresh water from our recently topped up tanks into the bilge via the lazarette locker where a plumbing joint popped. Suffice to say we were not a happy crew when we arrived at dusk to find we had just missed the bridge opening and the unfinished marina outside looked nothing like expected... However we nosed our way into what was basically a huge sheet piling cofferdam and dropped the anchor. At least the following day was dry and calm, as we spent most of it hauling wet gear out of the lazarette and drying it off on deck. <br />
<br />
Shelter for anchoring on this coast is a little sparse and we decided that the queen of Spanish package holiday towns, Benidorm was the best bet next as it has a little headland to tuck under. The skyline was visible from 15 miles away and was really quite spectacular as we approached at dusk. This was more than could be said for the shelter provided. The beach had all kinds of obstacles floating around for some distance off, and this severely limited the space to tuck in. Another bouncy night ensued.<br />
<br />
Moraira, a further 20 miles up the coast was much more to our taste and we pumped up the dinghy for the first time this season and waited for a good weather window to cross to Ibiza.</div>
Sula .... gates abouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02875245094074753279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254311535651827295.post-32562583198434425312015-11-16T08:49:00.001-08:002015-12-19T13:50:26.757-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
Gibraltar</h2>
<br />
The straight of Gibraltar certainly has a sense of drama. The impressively high mountains on both the European and African sides make for spectacular scenery but also make for a well known wind acceleration effect. The wind almost always blows due east (Levanter) or due west (Poniente) and is often pretty stiff. Tarifa, at the western entrance to the straight, is not the wind surf capital of Europe for nothing.<br />
<br />
It is the meeting of the Atlantic and the Mediterranean of course, as well as the almost meeting of the continents. The flow of shipping in and out is constant and the water swirls and eddies Eastwards, replacing all the evaporation from the oversized bathtub that is the Mediterranean Sea.<br />
<br />
Unusually, a Levanter had been blowing uninterrupted for several weeks, so it was at the first break in this that we headed out from Cadiz, where we'd sat out our fourth 40knot gale of the summer, and motored into the mouth of the Mediterranean with no wind whatsoever.<br />
<br />
I feel bound to say that the town of Gibraltar is somewhat less impressive than its suroundings. No offence to Gibraltarians but it really is an odd place. We had anchored just over the border in the shabby and run down Spanish town of La Linea, so crossed the land border into the province which bizarrely involves crossing the airport runway. Immediately on crossing, there is an immediate sense of slightly frenzied bustle and rush. For me, the place also seems to be full of the worst kind of graceless Britishness. We bought lunch from a bakery which was overpriced and stodgy and eventually retreated gratefully to Sula.<br />
<br />
On the positive side, this was a chance to meet up with friends Nick and Karen and their boys on Yacht Pilgrim. Not seen since Baiona, it was great to catch up on their adventures. </div>
Sula .... gates abouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02875245094074753279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254311535651827295.post-3385521685331091872015-11-16T08:36:00.000-08:002015-12-19T13:22:17.915-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
Kindness of Strangers</h2>
<br />
One of the aspects of how different our experience of Portugal has been this time around is the friendliness of the local fishermen. Now, professional fishermen are generally a fairly hard bitten bunch and it seems to me that they have every right to be a bit disdainful of us amateurs swanning about getting in their way. However, in Spain
and Portugal while we have had the odd instance of grumpiness, the reverse of this attitude is commonplace.<br />
<br />
Such it was when we returned to our dinghy in Olhao on the Algarve, to find the gate down to the pontoon locked. Fortunately, well - fairly fortunately, a local fisherman was returning to his boat after a clearly protracted liquid lunch. He saw we had no key, and indicated in slightly slurred mime that he had one in his dinghy.....which was also behind the locked gate. <br />
<br />
No problem. He climbed around and wobbled down to his dinghy, sat down in it and promptly rolled smoothly back into the water. I climbed around the gate as well but he managed to haul himself out and started stripping off his dripping clothes.<br />
<br />
We headed out at the same time as him and he kindly offered to tow us. An offer which we thought it prudent to politely decline in the circumstances, but he was still sober enough to guide us through the shallow passage between the mudflats safely back to Sula.</div>
Sula .... gates abouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02875245094074753279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254311535651827295.post-64025146246082473832015-11-08T08:45:00.000-08:002016-02-25T04:45:19.819-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
The Double Feature – with intermission</h2>
<br />
We've been avoiding overnight passages quite successfully this season. While they are quite enjoyable sometimes, with the occasional treats of phosphoresence, spectacular starry skies and meteorites, the novelty does wear off. The one and two nighters are generally too short to settle into a good sleep pattern and we now of course have the extra crew who loves it... sleeps exceptionally well and is up early waiting to be entertained by us bleary eyed adults.... bless her.<br />
<br />
So at the moment, we find ourselves 5 miles off the coast of Morocco in the Alboran Sea. It wasn't really part of the plan to be here. At least not at 4 in the morning. We had crossed to North Africa from Gibraltar a few days ago with the plan to avoid the bulk of the Costa Del Sol and to have a brief change of culture before we stop for a few months near Almeria.<br />
<br />
All was going well. We stopped in Smir, which in spite of the amusingly off-hand Moroccan girls in the harbour office who made sure not to let the distraction of paying customers get in the way of their texting, was clean and safe and tranquil. The harbour area wasn't all that interesting for us apart from its setting at the foot of the beautiful Rif Mountains, but Beatrice was delighted to spend almost all our time there hanging around the Customs post, chatting with the officials and playing with Echo, their Alsatian puppy and trying unsuccessfully to stroke any of the numerous daggy stray cats.<br />
<br />
We visited the city of Tetuan and were surprised by how relaxed it all felt and also by the fact that we appeared to be the only foreigners in the whole place. So, encouraged by this pleasant and relaxed start we decided to press on to El Jebha. We'd been assured by the police in Smir that it would all be fine but on arrival just before dusk we found the harbour stacked with fishing boats and the locals, including at least one armed official making it pretty clear that we weren't welcome.<br />
<br />
In a mixture of sign language and broken Spanish, they seemed to suggest that we could anchor around the corner in a little cove, but the weather wasn't really right for the anchorage so we took a deep breath, switched on lights and pressed on.<br />
<br />
Now, cruising along the North African coast at night does carry some concerns. The Rif mountains are the centre of Morocco's kif (marijuana) growing industry and a significant proportion of it seems to be shuttled across to Europe by boat. This, combined with the migrant smuggling trade combine to make this piece of water somewhat busier by night than we would have wished and was making the crew a little jumpy.<br />
<br />
As usual, I took the first watch. So from 9pm through 'til midnight I sat out in the warm darkness. I didn't see many lights and whether this is because there were no boats or just that they weren't lit I guess we'll never know. Anyway, I plugged the hard drive into the navigation computer, cranked up “Bladerunner- The Director's Cut” and settled in.<br />
<br />
Come midnight, after a few interruptions, I was still watching. We had hit an eddy in the normal East-going current that runs perpetually from the Atlantic into the Med, so our speed was down to below 4 knots. When I finally called the relief watch for our switch over at 12.30 I sensed a certain grumpiness at the lack of progress, but I wasn't going to let that stop me crashing out.... until 1.30 when I was shaken awake to look at the boat (lights) that had apparently circled around behind us and was now shadowing us, matching our speed. There was a slightly nervous half hour while we watched and waited, and wondered exactly what action to take if things went downhill. Happily of course it turned out to be just a fishing boat doing the apparently random stuff that fishing boats often seem to do.<br />
<br />
So, it's now 4am and I'm up again with another 3 hours 'til dawn. It's looking like it's going to be a two film night.</div>
Sula .... gates abouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02875245094074753279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254311535651827295.post-25035708094208481902015-09-10T08:38:00.000-07:002016-02-25T04:55:50.861-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
Leixoes Revisited</h2>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbU64gOU9nb4MbYsjLNUHRy_L0HBstVsnF27343ISh1hWCB7gKhPnuSs-KGPA8j83A5rX4PwAMFLmIzxiaHXQZ_rHV6WiCc2f7EinrIsBbe07Ov2Rg3bAvaoh3A0Ecvh-toy9cqEYk-HGZ/s1600/20150919_121539.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbU64gOU9nb4MbYsjLNUHRy_L0HBstVsnF27343ISh1hWCB7gKhPnuSs-KGPA8j83A5rX4PwAMFLmIzxiaHXQZ_rHV6WiCc2f7EinrIsBbe07Ov2Rg3bAvaoh3A0Ecvh-toy9cqEYk-HGZ/s200/20150919_121539.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Porto - statues in the park</td></tr>
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The Atlantic coast of Portugal isn't the easiest of places to sail. While the wind usually blows in the right direction for those going south, most of the potential stopping points have shallow entrances and can be bit dicey when there is any swell. Because this coast has hardly any continental shelf, ocean swells reach the shore more easily than elsewhere. It's not for nothing that the place is a surfing hot-spot... hence most of the harbours are often out of reach for us.<br />
<br />
One of the few that are relatively unaffected by swell is Leixoes.. pronounced Leshoins (or something similar). This is the main port for the city of Porto, some 5 miles up the adjacent river Douro and is one long day sail from Baiona in Spain.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJ4iGzqIfvu7IFfxLfH_wmfgF8qkKNrgeJYTO_tmGk8yS-rLVquYIoCB8EQ4NiaOsoL1433MzI90gyKQlh6JOxrVu4mvc7wBFoR7AOEmr0IaL8uq7F1chQ4QM2hW5KTKWDHg12OkT2PAO/s1600/20150919_101848.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsJ4iGzqIfvu7IFfxLfH_wmfgF8qkKNrgeJYTO_tmGk8yS-rLVquYIoCB8EQ4NiaOsoL1433MzI90gyKQlh6JOxrVu4mvc7wBFoR7AOEmr0IaL8uq7F1chQ4QM2hW5KTKWDHg12OkT2PAO/s200/20150919_101848.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Porto </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO_mF7nloJBDvwLBwKahgGPgUUQAeDqmmOsXs4NFWmVwqntp-ieTZZYqWte7qra34UA_t_pWaHHLLF4RUyGfe0nCX5kRdHnoFtL70y0c7mXEXRGh2476l7kSS9NKzANUPXqIkHqZXUBtiv/s1600/20150919_102552.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO_mF7nloJBDvwLBwKahgGPgUUQAeDqmmOsXs4NFWmVwqntp-ieTZZYqWte7qra34UA_t_pWaHHLLF4RUyGfe0nCX5kRdHnoFtL70y0c7mXEXRGh2476l7kSS9NKzANUPXqIkHqZXUBtiv/s200/20150919_102552.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Porto - Train Station</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We stopped here 9 years ago in one of those unfortunate conjugation of circumstances that left us swearing never to return. The weather had been a little strange then, with light following winds and a big swell. Not enough wind to sail, but just enough to hold our engine fumes in a cloud around us. In addition, the engine cooling system had developed a leak and on arriving we discovered it had been steadily filling the bilges with seawater. This left us feeling a tad grumpy as we anchored in the harbour outside the marina. We then discovered that they were in the process of dredging the harbour so there was a perpetual movement of the dredger around us, night and day. To make matters just a shade worse, when we visited the marina to enquire about engine parts, we found the staff there shifty, oily and as unhelpful as they could manage. We were so disgruntled that unusually for us we put to sea the following day into a near gale just to put distance between us and the place.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG3mE3pS43QyImcPGp2Y0KlkqkvHoP8RRj1E4t785tO7J6InPsDTTMPxKAE7F5QVvpQzwQL2l8bmt4zVjeABjOuy_ITLClhxx3LLsmAIFPiMU0r8Hq3lCbqUPDBxgym-6kzlQ_u8wI5j5f/s1600/20150919_110221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG3mE3pS43QyImcPGp2Y0KlkqkvHoP8RRj1E4t785tO7J6InPsDTTMPxKAE7F5QVvpQzwQL2l8bmt4zVjeABjOuy_ITLClhxx3LLsmAIFPiMU0r8Hq3lCbqUPDBxgym-6kzlQ_u8wI5j5f/s200/20150919_110221.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Porto - Central Market</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, as you can imagine we had mixed feelings about returning, but Leixoes is a convenient stopping point and we still hadn't seen Porto together. I had visited some 20 years previously but had no clear recollection of the city. <br />
<br />
Inevitably, it could only have been better than last time. The port isn't the prettiest of places, but we anchored in the gathering dusk alongside a couple of other yachts, with our engine working fine and no sign of dredgers anywhere. We caught the bus to Porto the following morning, and on the way were greeted by the marina staff who were helpful and friendly, even though we weren't actually staying in the marina. Everyone seemed to be cheerful.<br />
<br />
The city of Porto itself is extraordinary. It's scruffy in lots of places and generally quite run down, but has a spectacular setting in the steep river Douro valley and has a vibrancy and dynamism which is palpable together with a definite sense of style in spite of the decay. Clearly the last time that there was any significant wealth in the city was in the art deco period and so there are some fabulous examples scattered around. <br />
<br />
The valley sides are riddled with steep and narrow flights of stairs intersected with shady alleys. Working our way down towards the river we realised we had bizarrely stumbled into an organised urban motocross race. Pairs of off road bikes were tearing up and down the flights of stairs in the heart of the historic city centre. <br />
<br />
Making our way back to the station after and long and hugely enjoyable day meandering about soaking up the ambience (and two stroke fumes from the bikes), we found ourselves caught up in the middle of a substantial Portuguese Communist Party demonstration march. It was all pretty peaceful as it turned out, but quite noisy and lots of police.<br />
<br />
We decided Porto deserved another day, so returned and had a more mellow time wandering about. Although there was a big marathon happening through the city and a book fair.<br />
<br />
We headed out the following evening in settled weather for an overnighter to Peniche and had time during starry night watches to contemplate all the ways that leixoes/Porto had redeemed itself.</div>
Sula .... gates abouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02875245094074753279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254311535651827295.post-18699452675767823052015-07-23T08:35:00.000-07:002016-02-25T04:44:38.917-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
No, Seriously!</h2>
<br />
One of the occasional frustrations of long distance cruising occurs when you find that the exhaustive spares inventory you carry doesn't include that special piece of your boat that has decided to play up. So you either have to find the piece where you are or often get it sent from home. Hence we presently find ourselves trying to get hold of a small and relatively simple piece of gadgetry that senses the position of the rudder, and without which our usually trusty autopilot refuses to work.<br />
<br />
I was startled to find that the first chandlery I went into in Spain actually had one in stock. This, it should be said, was after a fairly lengthy mime and garbled Spanitch session, as I'd left our resident translator back on board. The bad news was that they wanted over 300 Euros for it. Cue a hasty retreat and reference to Ebay, where we bought one for £70. <br />
<br />
Ah, if only that were the end of the story.<br />
<br />
The seller agreed to send it to Gijon marina, a little further along the coast in Asturias. Sadly he didn't think to include “Spain” on the end of the address so the next thing we discovered was when we looked at the tracking and found that it was already on a plane and winging its way to ….. Australia. Nice one Royal Mail!<br />
<br />
Still, we managed to actually speak to someone in the Australian Postal Service a couple of days later who helpfully told us that it had been efficiently intercepted on arrival and been redirected....... to Austria...... no, seriously!<br />
<br />
They later wrote and told us that this actually might or might not be the case, but they and we couldn't find out unless and until it surfaces on some other country's postal tracking system, either Spain, Austria or back to the UK.... or maybe someone in Melbourne has despaired and kicked it into a corner of the sorting office.<br />
<br />
So if you see it, please drop us a line.</div>
Sula .... gates abouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02875245094074753279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254311535651827295.post-19828649438445327362015-07-10T08:33:00.000-07:002016-02-25T04:43:58.469-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
Mainly Spain</h2>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6gUMYwyDJEvxK5o-LBr5-PusLor8Q1N4U9S8vXXuPiJF32FlH-QutUVrvfJR7J2u8DBUdgDUkZFTrB4DgnEH4LI9O_Hp9zs0FjIezGsc8wtdJEFdE1204dPjwxXsVOy26VhfEs7Ig0gfl/s1600/20150728_104638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6gUMYwyDJEvxK5o-LBr5-PusLor8Q1N4U9S8vXXuPiJF32FlH-QutUVrvfJR7J2u8DBUdgDUkZFTrB4DgnEH4LI9O_Hp9zs0FjIezGsc8wtdJEFdE1204dPjwxXsVOy26VhfEs7Ig0gfl/s320/20150728_104638.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Golfe du Morbihan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Our brief time in Brittany came to a close at the end of July. We sat out some unsettled weather inside the Golfe du Morbihan where, despite there being a lot of boats, it didn't seem too crowded and the two main islands inside the gulf made for good exploring and walking.<br />
<br />
When the weather settled we headed out on a sunny morning towards La Rochelle after being spat out of the entrance on a 9kn tide and having set our course down the coast, we changed our minds after a few hours and altered course for Bilbao about 250 miles due south. We had low moment when Ralph the autopilot started to play up, and toyed with the idea of going back to France (such is the horror of having to steer continuously) but decided against it and pressed on. Dropping off the continental shelf, which can sometimes throw up an uncomfortable sea, was painless and although not much sleep was had, the crossing was otherwise uneventful. The mountainous coast of Cantabria duly appeared, and then disappeared into looming thunder clouds. The wind did the usual random shifts and we ended up motoring the last few hours through intermittent lightning into the spectacularly industrial port of Bilbao.<br />
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<div style="text-align: right;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwh_0rC9EKSz5DzupZUkPBZthPL-qgGEFj_QAPnHcIE5gMII_vmJTTPmyfzVPFgepYyMxFg5S-YS1oNTVaqZfaIVE4q97-gIKYxZaAhvzmXUqA23bgvpb_BXII56_kA7vblqrmWnnm19Vj/s1600/20150623_130315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwh_0rC9EKSz5DzupZUkPBZthPL-qgGEFj_QAPnHcIE5gMII_vmJTTPmyfzVPFgepYyMxFg5S-YS1oNTVaqZfaIVE4q97-gIKYxZaAhvzmXUqA23bgvpb_BXII56_kA7vblqrmWnnm19Vj/s320/20150623_130315.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
These 2 or 3 night passages seem always to be the most taxing. They're not long enough to settle into a proper routine and the motion and noise is usually too different to allow sensible amounts of sleep. The additional factor this time is that Beatrice, who contrarily tends to get a full and sound night's sleep on passage, expects our full attention and willingness to entertain her all day. It is a concern that despite encouragement, she doesn't seem to want/be able to play on her own for any length of time and it's certainly one that we'll have to work on for the longer passages.<br />
<br />
So at some point in the second day I had a serious mid passage sense-of-humour-failure. However, as ever, arrival at a new landfall does wonders for the spirit and we dropped anchor next to some Danes, sat out the rest of the showery day then headed into Bilbao.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjvCMMKUngNKSQu9hEwW6cIGsTeHgF6f7Xk_L532H7jhw2_Y-81QRHcuo4NStcicW36Uw6ChXhyMLqpYU7i9Ri_wA5qDi8gv0xsIGxJ_fwBjIOm82yfFiPCPzIUqfDpqcytEHcWpWiQGsA/s1600/20150801_111659.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjvCMMKUngNKSQu9hEwW6cIGsTeHgF6f7Xk_L532H7jhw2_Y-81QRHcuo4NStcicW36Uw6ChXhyMLqpYU7i9Ri_wA5qDi8gv0xsIGxJ_fwBjIOm82yfFiPCPzIUqfDpqcytEHcWpWiQGsA/s640/20150801_111659.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Guggenheim - Bilbao</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One of the reasons for choosing Bilbao was the Guggenheim museum there and we walked around it with open mouths, fully satisfied that it was worth the trip. It truly is a wonderful piece of architecture/sculpture. We weren't that interested in seeing the contemporary art collection and so ultimately didn't go in but both later regretted not having seen how the inside of the extraordinary space was made to work. Hey ho, we'll just have to come back.<br />
<br />
The weather decided not to co-operate and we ended up being stuck in Bilbao for a week or so. It did give us chance to take Beatrice to the doctor as she'd developed a worrying spottiness and in contrast to the ineffectual French doctor we'd previously seen, this one seemed to be actually competent. We also met Ronald and Annett (the first eastern German cruisers we've met) on their very sleek self built catamaran. Ronald is an electrical engineer and has the boat rigged so that he can control all the steering and motors via a remote control unit.<br />
<br />
We finally escaped to Castro Urdiales, only 7 miles or so to the West and arrived just as the wind suddenly decided that it needed some exercise and from almost nothing started to blow a healthy 25kn (what you get for being on a hot mountainous coast). No sooner had we got the anchor down than small children in (and out of) kayaks started floating past, disappearing out of the harbour, being chased by one guy, himself in a kayak. Jan could have used it as an excellent case study in how not to run a kayak activity.... we threw the dinghy over the side, slung the outboard on and gathered up the children and wreckage.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTWY3LZyshlCjH2YEIwMMwc_xUpxXY4sI5fgMq6i5HeEdcm2POvab8FUtLpIkWvdurOQnmTl6B0cj8np8VomMvtZhmIUoZhTkLQF2ORPqYWU12Q_iO9qfqDSR2OCILYOGwErZkJOlIyqF2/s1600/IMG_46671.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTWY3LZyshlCjH2YEIwMMwc_xUpxXY4sI5fgMq6i5HeEdcm2POvab8FUtLpIkWvdurOQnmTl6B0cj8np8VomMvtZhmIUoZhTkLQF2ORPqYWU12Q_iO9qfqDSR2OCILYOGwErZkJOlIyqF2/s320/IMG_46671.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally a bath - Gijon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Hopping along this coast that is new to us, we are coming to the conclusion that apart from the Guggenheim, the reason for coming here is the scenery rather than the towns, which are unexciting at best. The scenery by contrast is something special. Rugged cliffs, beautiful beaches and seriously large mountains as a backdrop; one or two still with pockets of snow.<br />
<br />
Santander provided a safe stop to sit out a northwesterly blow. We headed upriver to find the most sheltered spot, rescuing our dinghy on the way after it decided to go airborne when the gusts reached 40kn, and anchored in the first of two potential spots. I was just headed out in the dinghy to have a look at the other one when I saw the Ryanair jet coming into land directly over it at what seemed to be just a shade above mast height. We decided on balance to stay where we were.<br />
<br />
<br />
After a few more days of westerlies, we began to feel a bit frustrated and decided to do a long hop to Gijon. It was a slight disappointment to be passing possibly the most spectacular bit of coast on what turned out to be a murky day, but we made up for it by hiring a car from Gijon and doing a breathtaking grand tour of the Picos de Europa.</div>
Sula .... gates abouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02875245094074753279noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254311535651827295.post-82341402588229015052015-07-05T13:37:00.000-07:002016-02-25T04:38:02.901-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
The dubious luxury of options</h2>
<br />
I always thought that setting off for a long trip the second time would be a lot easier, what with knowing so much more about what was involved practically. This has turned out to be at least only partially true.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG2iErETHWWTWhzYFfo7sL48X0tZFwRHpGNgIh9w9Y6ZP6ElaVLHc7XxRWr8G4YNEVwOYrrM2xhfmCiQ0Aj5IlzRA5_JRQYPhxcljPqpr3nRXwSkQDDmehWbuYEYlY1ZZwv24QAvbLiDkC/s1600/IMG_4495.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG2iErETHWWTWhzYFfo7sL48X0tZFwRHpGNgIh9w9Y6ZP6ElaVLHc7XxRWr8G4YNEVwOYrrM2xhfmCiQ0Aj5IlzRA5_JRQYPhxcljPqpr3nRXwSkQDDmehWbuYEYlY1ZZwv24QAvbLiDkC/s320/IMG_4495.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seal - River Exe </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On the one hand we are of course much more experienced, have a bigger, better equipped and more comfortable boat and almost inexplicably, considering how little work we've done in the intervening years, more funds in the bank. However on the flip side, there is somehow a lack of the absolute inevitability of our previous adventure. It was my dream and had the momentum of years of thought behind it. There was simply an unstoppable nature about it which over-rode any second thoughts or alternative options.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQ_s7cdkvLm7czBomPO3xPZqaaTFhgYQQEmKr6FjbotqFj6VP-SdZWJL2TBcpgmX_82poJImgQ5u9Q_WSX0hyrgdCSzRdtNL86ULf0BSmyybH3G1A0WDTp7qvwg8VAWdaj1r_Uzfx9bwm/s1600/20150618_174115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQ_s7cdkvLm7czBomPO3xPZqaaTFhgYQQEmKr6FjbotqFj6VP-SdZWJL2TBcpgmX_82poJImgQ5u9Q_WSX0hyrgdCSzRdtNL86ULf0BSmyybH3G1A0WDTp7qvwg8VAWdaj1r_Uzfx9bwm/s320/20150618_174115.JPG" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saltash</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We have Beatrice now of course, who together with joy and love and wonder brings a layer of practical complication and emotional considerations, but the crew also brings her own helping of doubt and fear and plain old fashioned hormones into the equation.<br />
<br />
We have been unsettled in one way or another for the last 10 years or so; never being in one place for more than about 18months. This does take its toll. The part of us that wants to settle somewhere increasingly fights with the part that wants to take advantage of Beatrice's early years to wander and adventure. Also for me there is the almost inevitable consequence of living a land bound existence that is Work.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_1WnvXQdb_vqkfsu3htDIa1YJM6lhha7xlu35asgL4QhktQ7TjUzBRk3sbPCILIwsnCOmsx7dN4MPGD8Vfm4KlNViZxI3KR0VvIiFX7al_8DVTI6YzjSgn97Msf2wg1DkXvJ-8QvpU1oV/s1600/20150707_123200.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_1WnvXQdb_vqkfsu3htDIa1YJM6lhha7xlu35asgL4QhktQ7TjUzBRk3sbPCILIwsnCOmsx7dN4MPGD8Vfm4KlNViZxI3KR0VvIiFX7al_8DVTI6YzjSgn97Msf2wg1DkXvJ-8QvpU1oV/s320/20150707_123200.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bread art</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Conversely, Lucia feels slightly cheated out of being able to practice as an engineer and while living a life of leisure is undoubtedly pretty good for most of the time, the undeniable fact of it being an existence without much intrinsic value can begin to worm its way into wider considerations for the future.<br />
<br />
Well, throw all that in a pot and simmer. What you get are some moments of serious reflection on whether we're doing the right thing. This can be an incendiary recipe when served with seasickness, lack of sleep and a pinch of fear, usually but not exclusively on the part of the crew.<br />
<br />
The unlikely outcome of this is that I've probably been enjoying the trip so far rather less than Lucia as, in between outbursts, she's been fine, and I've been either racked with guilt at dragging her away afloat or braced for the next onslaught. There have been moments when I have been fairly convinced that we should head back at the end of the Summer and just do something else.<br />
<br />
But then it passes...<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3XIbHaTXihDmdCSDa6tRAKe42m_IqycZkqekGBxere7zQnrlVypwqImTJmw5U4vGNFB1y6P0KsGkQDNi1gz0cffNLBlnHzVowXHYDTEVb4dFZ8ZaQJcIRTmm1zbVNNY03lfX8RzbLItB/s1600/20150616_082739.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU3XIbHaTXihDmdCSDa6tRAKe42m_IqycZkqekGBxere7zQnrlVypwqImTJmw5U4vGNFB1y6P0KsGkQDNi1gz0cffNLBlnHzVowXHYDTEVb4dFZ8ZaQJcIRTmm1zbVNNY03lfX8RzbLItB/s640/20150616_082739.JPG" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the way to the Channel Islands</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Sula .... gates abouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02875245094074753279noreply@blogger.com022220 Tréguier, France48.7875439 -3.230776900000023548.7666194 -3.2711174000000236 48.8084684 -3.1904364000000234tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254311535651827295.post-26135100090058889852015-06-25T13:39:00.000-07:002016-02-20T09:48:30.071-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
Can buying an anchor really be this complicated?</h2>
<br />
If you ever have an hour or two to burn, ask a cruising sailor about anchors. Understandably I suppose, when feeling confident about ones anchor can make for a good night's sleep and ultimately can dictate between being able to stay put in a blow or having to put to sea, but cruising folk do tend to have fairly strident views on what's what generally, and when it comes to anchoring this tendency seems to shift up a gear.<br />
<br />
When we bought Sula, she had a CQR anchor. The CQR held an apparently unassailable position as the standard choice for most cruising boats for at least four decades. I've used them but have never set great store by them as almost without exception when I've dived to see how they were set, they've been laid on their side.<br />
<br />
While there have been a few other types designed over the years, only in the last 10 years or so have a new generation of anchors been developed which independent testing has shown are markedly better. One of the better known of these is the Rocna.<br />
<br />
Clearly no anchors are idiot proof, as a friend related to us recently. While lying to his (CQR) anchor in Falmouth, an apparently unattended yacht floated past him. He roused the sleeping owners with his foghorn, whereupon a woman appeared in the cockpit. "I think you're dragging", he quite reasonably told them, only to get the offended response "We can't possibly be, we have a Rocna!"<br />
<br />
I happened on a suitably sized Rocna on ebay before we left and bought it at what was a bargain price (they are around £1100 new!). It was a bit of a gamble, as the bow roller on Sula is a bit unusual, and as it happened it wouldn't fit. Hey ho, it got stuffed in our garage and will no doubt be making a reappearance on ebay when we get back (unless someone wants to make me an offer) and we were left with the CQR.<br />
<br />
The next choice was a Spade. I did make a cardboard model of one which seemed OK (and inevitably attracted a few smartass comments) but no-one in the UK actually holds them in stock at our size, and ordering one to try it would potentially involve quite a bit of cost if it also didn't fit. We discovered that they were distributed from Jersey so decided that the simplest thing would be to go there, so anchoring considerations dictated our first destination.<br />
<br />
When a weather window came up that implied the alternative was a longish wait, we reluctantly passed up the opportunity to go to Falmouth for an overdue visit to the Parkyns in their new home, and instead headed out for St Helier.<br />
<br />
Apart from crossing the end of the Channel shipping lane, it was a quiet and relaxed passage and we anchored in St Aubyn's Bay in hot sunshine.<br />
<br />
Bluewater Supplies was 20metres from the pontoon where we tied up the next day. I walked in to find an attractive French girl sat behind a desk. She knew nothing about anchors and next to nothing about boats, but it was fairly easy to forgive her.<br />
<br />
She had to phone her boss whom I then had to persuade (!) to let me unwrap an anchor to allow me to try it. After that, apart from nearly cracking my head open on a low stone door frame (was I not concentrating?) it was fairly easy and no VAT to boot!<br />
<br />
So, we were at large in Jersey with a new anchor.</div>
Sula .... gates abouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02875245094074753279noreply@blogger.com0Jersey49.214439 -2.131250000000022749.048469 -2.4539735000000227 49.380409 -1.8085265000000228tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254311535651827295.post-61026797499698903562015-06-20T13:35:00.000-07:002015-12-19T13:53:31.085-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">Hunting the Leak, or The Curse of the Aluminium Boat</h2>
<br />
I guess boats and leaks have been inseparable partners since the first person pushed off from the shore on their lash up of sticks and hairy mammoth hide, or whatever.<br />
<br />
We've been on the trail of our leak for the last 9 months off and on, with all the frustration that this implies. Our leak however is not your usual drip when it rains or the regular pumping out that many of our classic boat friends curiously take for granted. No, our leak is altogether more serious.<br />
<br />
Those of you who know about aluminium boats will know that they're great. Well, they're great as long as you don't drop any copper coins down the bilge, and as long as there isn't any stray electricity floating about.<br />
<br />
For those of you who can't remember their school chemistry lessons, I'm not about to give you a revision session, but suffice to say that dissimilar metals blah blah, electrolytic action blah, galvanic corrosion blah, equals a potential hole in your precious aluminium boat in short order.<br />
<br />
Most aluminium boats, Sula included, are fitted with an electrical leakage detector of some kind. This measures any current escaping from the boat's wiring system into the hull. Ours takes the form of a push button and two green lights (I can explain the circuit if anyone is interested). When you press the button, the two lights should stay on and equally bright. Any dimming of one and brightening of the other indicates a leak. We press the button several times a day, depending how twitchy we're feeling at any given time.<br />
Anyway, during the latter part of last summer, we began to have discussions along the lines of “do you think that green is a little dimmer?” and “well if you look at it from this angle, or stare at it for a little while.....” etcetera, but that all stopped when we were just south of Copenhagen when one of the lights went out altogether. This was just as we were about to leave Sula to catch a flight back to Devon for a wedding. A hasty disconnection of the battery banks, while not solving the problem, at least prevented any damage while we were away.<br />
<br />
On our return a few days later I isolated all kinds of equipment and at some point the problem spontaneously disappeared. I reconnected everything and still no leak. Hmmm. I decided that continuing to look for something which apparently wasn't actually there might not be a good use of time so we shelved it and carried on south towards the Kiel canal.... where it happened again. I started to investigate again but with more or less the same results. I can't tell you how unsettling it is to feel that your precious boat/home/survival capsule is slowly, or not so slowly dissolving beneath you.<br />
<br />
So when it disappeared, we carried on. Although through this time, in between the decisive leaks, the slight dimming seemed to be getting a little more consistently worse. It continued to do so until we had transited Kiel, and sailed down the German Bight to Delfzijl, where we entered the Dutch canal system and the problem mysteriously disappeared. The crew asserted confidently that this was because we were now in fresh water rather than salt, which I gently pooh-poohed at the time but subsequently had to sheepishly admit was right, as it returned immediately that we left fresh water the following spring. But in the meantime we did have another full light out episode, which I finally traced to a fault in the anchor winch.<br />
<br />
The residual problem remained stubbornly with us. I was unable to tackle it through the winter, as we were in fresh water the whole time, and when we crossed to the UK in the spring, we locked into the Exeter canal.... fresh water again. Only on sailing down to Plymouth could we see that the problem was really back and appeared to be getting worse still.<br />
<br />
I called a marine engineer recommended by a friend who then came to have a look. This was really the stimulus I had needed, as I was so underwhelmed by his initial approach that I decided it was time to get out my multimeter, screw on my Mr Determined and Methodical head and seriously set to it.<br />
<br />
Three days of work and many hours later, most of which was spent with my head in the electrics cupboard (a small awkward space behind the stove), and the culprit was located. The log, which measures how fast we're going, has a sea water temperature sensor built into it. This had corroded or burnt out and was providing an electrical pathway back to the hull.<br />
<br />
After putting back together all the bits of Sula that we'd peeled apart in the hunt for the lost electrons, we felt that a weight had been lifted off us. We now press the button almost every time we walk past it, just for the sense of well-being that the steady even glow of both lights gives us each time.<br />
<br />
As we are just on the point of departure to who knows what distant parts, we didn't feel that we could sensibly leave before sorting the problem conclusively. Now we have no more excuses not to really set off south.</div>Sula .... gates abouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02875245094074753279noreply@blogger.com0Saltash, UK50.396471567418317 -4.21818750585930550.355999567418316 -4.2988685058593052 50.436943567418318 -4.1375065058593048tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254311535651827295.post-6486601800352275532014-10-12T13:31:00.000-07:002016-02-24T05:45:45.047-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
Catfishing by moonlight... or...adventures in maritime veterinary surgery</h2>
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The ship's cat - Kipling, like most cats, likes fish.<br />
<br />
It may be my imagination, but I think that the lack of feline shipboard entertainment introduces a degree of boredom that somehow makes the prospect of illicit fish even more appealing to Kipling.<br />
<br />
So we have found out by experience that no fish is safe on board when we're not looking unless it is seriously out of reach.<br />
<br />
Our collapsible crab pot, for which we use fish heads as bait, had already been chewed through once so I had taken to tying it up high on the aluminium post which supports the radar and various other antennae on the stern.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrqQQHVcrjgHp7TNNMiStIuHtw58TnbQFfLtjSDb3Q__cV8PmOwJXOvSskTlOmK8q3uXytibVrw_kyTT8UDjHUPT-WAfvFzQubJcfOx4K0vDst9UUmUMwRPCZ37KJa1alKhmrJxGpWNQj/s1600/IMG_3759.JPG"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBrqQQHVcrjgHp7TNNMiStIuHtw58TnbQFfLtjSDb3Q__cV8PmOwJXOvSskTlOmK8q3uXytibVrw_kyTT8UDjHUPT-WAfvFzQubJcfOx4K0vDst9UUmUMwRPCZ37KJa1alKhmrJxGpWNQj/s320/IMG_3759.JPG" /></a><br />
<br />
This post also serves as a useful spot for storing our fishing rod and for keeping its array of large stainless steel hooks out of Beatrice (our three year old) range.<br />
<br />
Those of a squeamish disposition should probably look away now, as while I'd like to be able to say that no animals were harmed in the making of this blog, this wouldn't be strictly truthful.<br />
<br />
We were awoken in the night by curious clattering from the stern. Non-Beatrice related noise is usually my area of duty at night, so I climbed out to find a curious black shape lurching around by the radar post.<br />
<br />
Curiously, Kipling wasn't crying out much. Perhaps he was still thinking that he might just get away without a beating but I'm not sure I could have kept that quiet if I was suspended 8ft in the air by just a fish hook through my arm. He was trying desperately and failing, to regain some kind of hold on the post which he had clearly climbed in pursuit of the fish head. I lifted him up to take the weight of the hook but it was a bit tricky to then release the rod and hooks, which he'd managed to comprehensively tangle up while thrashing around.<br />
<br />
Lucia arrived at this point and promptly had to sit down before fainting, after which we lowered him down to start the process of extraction. The barb had gone right through but was fortunately only through a large fold of loose skin.<br />
<br />
Apart from a slightly sheepish manner this morning, he seems none the worse. We are one fishing hook short, but at least he didn't manage to eat the fish head bait, so there's still a chance of crabs tomorrow.</div>
Sula .... gates abouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02875245094074753279noreply@blogger.com0Rogaland, Norway58.978329558341336 5.729370117187558.716603058341335 5.0839231171875 59.240056058341338 6.3748171171875tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254311535651827295.post-40593810402088106472014-09-07T05:43:00.000-07:002016-02-25T04:28:45.371-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
Norway</h2>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhkVYrLEHNR2ITw9zFiIEpm4aoqujkIb7WFuukahHnLsOyayauxCWaWt5DfjACcpc27ccgmU9g_eGwF67wbX9aYohVOQNEx2lZbOMriRfCOgTZL2c4HBdvgwmY6tOo75UNe9trO1gogiTv/s1600/IMG_3687.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhkVYrLEHNR2ITw9zFiIEpm4aoqujkIb7WFuukahHnLsOyayauxCWaWt5DfjACcpc27ccgmU9g_eGwF67wbX9aYohVOQNEx2lZbOMriRfCOgTZL2c4HBdvgwmY6tOo75UNe9trO1gogiTv/s200/IMG_3687.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our first anchorage - Mandal</td></tr>
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My previous memories of Norway are from our family trip in 1968 in our 32ft Buchanan gaff cutter “Orlando”. I was 6 years old and so these are among some of my earliest clear memories. Well, I say clear, but of course in the way of early memories they are all shaped and warped and disjointed, sometimes blurred but with snapshots of exceptional but perhaps deceptive clarity. One facet of my memory of that time was the unbroken sunshine we had throughout the duration of our time there, which seemed like months.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHOwf-sJZ8sI0697zEHGGmrCFcjrgrLj7sk4Xxa1OvV_nkQvJZGDSwZdC8RcAVXwF9dHFMN5_4lwwVDla0TgWY8aSyzzT4aqZ9-mf89pZtd1J1mH_hJJce4de7nmANB_jf1I47dfv3UQ8l/s1600/IMG_4384.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHOwf-sJZ8sI0697zEHGGmrCFcjrgrLj7sk4Xxa1OvV_nkQvJZGDSwZdC8RcAVXwF9dHFMN5_4lwwVDla0TgWY8aSyzzT4aqZ9-mf89pZtd1J1mH_hJJce4de7nmANB_jf1I47dfv3UQ8l/s200/IMG_4384.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Islands off Mandal</td></tr>
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The unreliability of these memories was demonstrated to me by my father before he died in the Spring of last year. He had become increasingly disabled through recent years and clearly took vicarious pleasure in following our travels. I spoke to him about Norway not long before he passed away. He told me that we had been there for about 2 weeks in total.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgraRLSoByIY2H1rb5TBQrkRI3LNPfNvS0Eo2tNdx1taQG6978yxDl97NL8LKo6jud8GlosRWklxDYqKF2Q3carVbMMio_Zcv9rKj52Dl0SFSpFuR65DpZhpVkISx6NlNDBc1yywDcCMSyL/s1600/IMG_3702.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgraRLSoByIY2H1rb5TBQrkRI3LNPfNvS0Eo2tNdx1taQG6978yxDl97NL8LKo6jud8GlosRWklxDYqKF2Q3carVbMMio_Zcv9rKj52Dl0SFSpFuR65DpZhpVkISx6NlNDBc1yywDcCMSyL/s200/IMG_3702.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our little explorer</td></tr>
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Many other elements of memory remained accurate and more drifted back as they were nudged by the scenery we came across.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Whereas in '68 it was a drawn out, rough and unpleasant passage from Dover to Stavanger, this time we had a single tranquil overnight crossing from the northern tip of Denmark to Mandal. The south coast of Norway is littered with small granite islands giving lots of shelter but anchoring is limited by the depth of the water. We arrived in late July in the heart of the short but intense Norwegian holiday season, so some of these anchorages were busy during the daytime and having heard that the West coast is quieter we decided to press on in spite of the scenic beauty and get around the corner.</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical hairy roof</td></tr>
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We were rewarded with less boats and increasingly spectacular scenery at almost every turn. The delightful anchorages and breathtaking views are simply too numerous to list, and this was our introduction to the real problem of cruising in Norway – there's just too much of it to see.<br />
<br />
The memories started kicking in as we dropped the anchor off Klosteroy, not far from Stavanger; pictures of a young girl in a kayak curiously paddling out from an island to investigate us; picking and eating the delicious yellow rasberry-like berries, and the mountains.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb6we_kFuzxLcuytNs6d_nWQ-kJ928mRSyMYmIMA_N4zsBDZu9AZOL3HX_xXdhD4XEOkSYC1L5wsRB4zvpx-5SmOY_OSiLrEyCB4eQhcJMSsBLQPCdNk9vXYiQsoFu7Fq45NXpMpPaotqe/s1600/IMG_4176.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb6we_kFuzxLcuytNs6d_nWQ-kJ928mRSyMYmIMA_N4zsBDZu9AZOL3HX_xXdhD4XEOkSYC1L5wsRB4zvpx-5SmOY_OSiLrEyCB4eQhcJMSsBLQPCdNk9vXYiQsoFu7Fq45NXpMpPaotqe/s200/IMG_4176.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kvitsoy</td></tr>
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The weather this year surpassed even my rosy recollection and locals were saying this was the best Summer for 30 years or more, so we motored ourselves around, swam and stood with our mouths open waiting for the next view and trying to think up new superlatives.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguEIpPBmncspywGdnrXRdNYa8rgKBCKRpIF5qNxXUnknMQouWbixTQC-w28tKUi_hzGoSj8EaQVrpqMAMF57PbxYAJovWQumb_ASI2yWA9xJZ9ZBcLUFWuTx55jzPyqUT6fN2CDoxjEWNJ/s1600/IMG_3889.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguEIpPBmncspywGdnrXRdNYa8rgKBCKRpIF5qNxXUnknMQouWbixTQC-w28tKUi_hzGoSj8EaQVrpqMAMF57PbxYAJovWQumb_ASI2yWA9xJZ9ZBcLUFWuTx55jzPyqUT6fN2CDoxjEWNJ/s200/IMG_3889.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jaap and Anneke</td></tr>
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In an enclosed anchorage near Skudenhamn we met Jaap and Anneke from Enkhuisen in Holland on their boat Kim. We were immediately struck by their warmth and humour and on their recommendation crossed to Skudenhamn and ate waffles in Johannes front room cafe, which is a mandatory part of any visit. We parted company there, but this wasn't the last that we would see of them.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tight spot but ever so safe!</td></tr>
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August saw us working north to Hardangerfjord, in yet more implausibly beautiful surroundings.<br />
Maybe we had become a little blasé about the weather, as when the barograph started to freefall and the radio squawked of an imminent force 10, we were caught somewhat unprepared.<br />
<br />
We managed to retreat around to the lee side of Varaldsoyna island but were uncomfortably aware that the wind was set to shift in the night leaving us badly exposed. It was a worrying time, as while we were some 40miles from the open sea, the wind funnels and gusts strongly up the deep fjords and an unpleasant sea can kick up. Because of the steepness of the sides, sheltered harbours are few. We couldn't find anywhere where our anchor would hold and were preparing ourselves for a pretty unpleasant night when a shout from the shore changed things.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Glacier off Sunndaal</td></tr>
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Ole was a master mariner who had returned to the island (somewhat reluctantly I felt) to run the local shop and taxi service. He had built himself a tiny harbour tucked behind his house and in short order had us installed and securely roped up, then supplied with bowls of ripe plums from his overflowing orchard. We said that we planned to head off the day after and he calmly and confidently said that no, we would be staying for three days at least. He was right of course, as the wind from ex-tropical cyclone Bertha tore up the fjord for the next few days while we remained tucked in our private refuge.
Thanks again Ole.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvQy3qaUsOfZ1paAxVKxDE6LhAk4B2osw5UEqHtLGAjmoYptztMboUBDjDbEdHyXzaokSRJfBKthym773aHrXZUxDLJzRceWKNJmriE6rhx7DSochoyU3i3Fg44cuUO2RccHkjP8jnRYan/s1600/IMG_4076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvQy3qaUsOfZ1paAxVKxDE6LhAk4B2osw5UEqHtLGAjmoYptztMboUBDjDbEdHyXzaokSRJfBKthym773aHrXZUxDLJzRceWKNJmriE6rhx7DSochoyU3i3Fg44cuUO2RccHkjP8jnRYan/s200/IMG_4076.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The carrot and the stick</td></tr>
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We tied up at Sunndaal early one morning and set off from the boat to walk up close to the base of a glacier, coaxing Beatrice on with regular handfuls of wild raspberries. Bizarrely, we were swimming in the fjord that evening.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuH39C4B58k9Gk-IcyYD0BT0xH0BBP1qp5_cbbWiMIRt57WnA9UxP6Jxrzhidxn8LalC_nefKcb37sAgxZwSWWTjSYzSIpIanuU_Nhf27BhjLf3ctz68wIOzdZZZCfzRINq70dg8D3zB2k/s1600/IMG_4258.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuH39C4B58k9Gk-IcyYD0BT0xH0BBP1qp5_cbbWiMIRt57WnA9UxP6Jxrzhidxn8LalC_nefKcb37sAgxZwSWWTjSYzSIpIanuU_Nhf27BhjLf3ctz68wIOzdZZZCfzRINq70dg8D3zB2k/s200/IMG_4258.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waterfaull - Lysefijord</td></tr>
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Bertha seemed to unsettle the weather pattern, or maybe it just unsettled us, as we decided that it was time to stop heading further North. The trip south was a series of relaxed day hops. We made an unplanned stop in Haugesund where a branch of the fjord almost forms the main street of the town. A classic boat festival was in full swing when we happened past, the highlight of which for me was a tour around one of the original Shetland Taxis. The bravery and toughness of the folk who had manned and used her during the war years was almost palpable.<br />
<br />
September became colder as we worked our way down in the almost complete absence of any other cruising boats.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKhfyzS5z5NqX7qb94p5-uFGKy7KXKkP6q_-WhFQqrBc2CvfJ8oQRZJTyTC6FDzRoyydD5vygr6qsoqChBegUYpHMNELbNFiOjfy_Q3LYuL8fmLvJNkBTSRBZHHLH6HvuTPDv-9uKjmGXn/s1600/IMG_4248.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKhfyzS5z5NqX7qb94p5-uFGKy7KXKkP6q_-WhFQqrBc2CvfJ8oQRZJTyTC6FDzRoyydD5vygr6qsoqChBegUYpHMNELbNFiOjfy_Q3LYuL8fmLvJNkBTSRBZHHLH6HvuTPDv-9uKjmGXn/s200/IMG_4248.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waterfall - Lysefijord</td></tr>
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We stopped in the Kvitsoy archipelago to wait out another blow. Jaap and Anneke had been there for Bertha and had spend a couple of days at 30 degrees heel as, while there is complete shelter from the sea, the islands are low lying and somewhat windswept. They, and their few inhabitants are nonetheless delightful and we were given crabs to eat by a local fisherman.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgeJs7jzYTHzl9n63PxJ5Slfp578Ux-5hZt3Y2S2j0ltrH4ViFP2iGEvIoaIvuCd8eaYkUf-kOsGIEDjaz7BJIOMf4OvFExcwLcOGmQV71g4EyfjdVrcicfSYLHdzKjY6sF-pYi23NLeZi/s1600/IMG_4354.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgeJs7jzYTHzl9n63PxJ5Slfp578Ux-5hZt3Y2S2j0ltrH4ViFP2iGEvIoaIvuCd8eaYkUf-kOsGIEDjaz7BJIOMf4OvFExcwLcOGmQV71g4EyfjdVrcicfSYLHdzKjY6sF-pYi23NLeZi/s200/IMG_4354.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rock mooring</td></tr>
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Our last stop before rounding Cape was one of the highlights. We squeezed through a narrow gap between the rocks into a small pool and tied ourselves to stakes in the base of a cliff in absolute solitude.<br />
<br />
The softer and more sheltered south coast made for pleasant cruising in the increasingly autumnal weather right up to the island of Jomfruland where we had a
long walk in the woodland and said goodbye to Norway before crossing over to the pink granite islands of the West coast of Sweden.</div>
</div>
Sula .... gates abouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02875245094074753279noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6254311535651827295.post-42858437581024420522014-07-24T13:25:00.000-07:002016-02-25T04:35:56.810-08:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
Pining for the Fjords?</h2>
<br />
No more, as the last days of July find us in Snigsfjorden on Norway's South coast, basking in an implausible heatwave similar to the hazy memory I have of Norway from some 45 years ago.<br />
<br />
It seems to have been a little while coming.<br />
<br />
We've been onboard Sula for 6 weeks or so, but as ever, the journey started long before that. Having finally found and bought our new boat at the end of 2013, a long Winter of waiting and preparing the house for renting followed, working up to an almost inevitably frenzied last few days before an epic 3 day shuttle of our gear from Devon to Holland.<br />
<br />
After unloading all our stuff from the hired van into a huge pile on a patch of grass as near to the boat as we could drive, I grabbed a few hours kip before setting off to take the van back. I arrived back in Holland by plane and train to find Lucia surrounded by piles of tins and clothes and boat gear and looking a little beleaguered. It took us a full week just to transfer everything on board and find homes for it all. At first it looked pretty hopeless and I was wondering what and where we were going to dump, but gradually more and more storage spaces revealed themselves and were duly rammed. The process of re-homing and re-re-homing stuff or course continues.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1eiNe9EYFGCQd_u7rChpP9CJn_CWXbUs7F2N3B8VzXSjzx98rMCKaZMonKeCz4U2GzIfMWBRGSt2EOtO4Vkxb1Ze2Ohwy258yvbhVFlz4hucmbR-O_z3KywEAN86lo15xF7Z8PKsQCPJn/s1600/IMG_3455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1eiNe9EYFGCQd_u7rChpP9CJn_CWXbUs7F2N3B8VzXSjzx98rMCKaZMonKeCz4U2GzIfMWBRGSt2EOtO4Vkxb1Ze2Ohwy258yvbhVFlz4hucmbR-O_z3KywEAN86lo15xF7Z8PKsQCPJn/s320/IMG_3455.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving The Netherlands</td></tr>
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</div>
We managed a brief trial sail and narrowly managed to avoid taking lumps out of the the boat on returning to the huge and packed marina where we'd bought her and where she has languished for the Winter. Everything seemed to work, so we set off. After some discussion, we decided to head straight out of the Ijsselmeer and into the North Sea, but not before a renaming ceremony; peeling off her old “SvalBar” and putting on her smart new “Sula - Exeter”<br />
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Our first lesson in how Sula behaves differently from our old Fair Grace came in the sea lock where we discover that the kick in reverse gear is the opposite direction. To cut an embarrassing story to the bare minimum, we failed to get a line to the side of the lock and crabbed our way down, narrowly avoiding wedging ourselves diagonally across, but unable to straighten up. We figure that at least we gave the lock keeper some entertainment. Look out for it on Youtube! Thankfully the downstream gates opened before we piled into them, and we were out into the sea.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOVmVLui416z-_fWxSekxiATVA39gSrmvAW_vO-HjlTjy-CWRKHd3S3rKJqnrZalWfmLvDWAD3XLPJm54ZCfW3sCAAB532AHcWNOsR-r37Nao_6iY4C4j-7UG94eOhyQmUliovHBKIVKtY/s1600/IMG_3467.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOVmVLui416z-_fWxSekxiATVA39gSrmvAW_vO-HjlTjy-CWRKHd3S3rKJqnrZalWfmLvDWAD3XLPJm54ZCfW3sCAAB532AHcWNOsR-r37Nao_6iY4C4j-7UG94eOhyQmUliovHBKIVKtY/s320/IMG_3467.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical Dutch sailing barges</td></tr>
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Well I say the sea, but in truth it was hundreds of square miles of drying sand flats riven by a maze of channels behind the Frisian Islands. First stop was Harlingen, still on the mainland, an exquisite old Friesland town where we tied up in the middle of the town and toasted ourselves in actually getting somewhere and escaping from marina-land. Harlingen was so lovely, we had seen it briefly before in the depths of winter when a biting wind had been coming in off the sea, that we stayed for another day before heading out to the nearest island, Vlieland, to try our anchor. And very pleasant it was too; doing little jobs and settling in, before a Dutch Customs launch arrived and asked us politely, but seriously, for all our documents, including our VAT certificate, which.... we didn't have!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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Fortunately for us, they were convinced enough that we were legit to let it go with a warning to organise it quickly. Feeling somewhat shaken, we called the selling agent who cheerfully told us that yes, they still had it and just hadn't thought to actually give it to us. The quickest way to get it was to meet one of their people in Harlingen, which is where we returned the next day, but it all went smoothly and there turned out to be a whole folder of other paperwork that they also had omitted to pass on to us.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSSTU06NUo9pOjcfSPvp89PDiVQd4DtMi-Ni7ejEvTPHCkIdgjWXuw1ruczXjWGFfMoB7m64LFzy3iTzTUYQUte6kegND9DVVyKpJwS1qEs6QbwHqZVWagG1eyOBao5L_6oOln1g2WSukp/s1600/IMG_3476.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSSTU06NUo9pOjcfSPvp89PDiVQd4DtMi-Ni7ejEvTPHCkIdgjWXuw1ruczXjWGFfMoB7m64LFzy3iTzTUYQUte6kegND9DVVyKpJwS1qEs6QbwHqZVWagG1eyOBao5L_6oOln1g2WSukp/s320/IMG_3476.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dutch sailing barge</td></tr>
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So, back to Vlieland and anchor down again.<br />
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The gaps between the long Frisian islands are narrow and the tide runs hard between them. The sandbanks and shallows extend outside for miles, all of which add up to it being potentially hard work to get out of the relatively few anchorages and get going. It is fair to say that the first day of open sea sailing in Sula wasn't an overwhelming success. This wasn't really the fault of the boat.<br />
<br />
The long drag out from the anchorage, the classically short and lumpy North Sea, together with slightly squally weather for a longish day to the next available stop had the crew on the verge of mutiny already. I had half expected it would come, but just not quite so soon and so forcefully. I was left in the cockpit for the last 4 hours or so, seriously wondering if we were going to have to sell the boat and buy a cottage in the mountains instead. Encouragingly though, things perked up as soon as we arrived and I decided that maybe we could delay the sale for a short while at least.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyEE9Rl_5IijAA5M28SWsVrPGrWiKqUZmF3qdZeC9-g3KfLJ7qWNJkUzBRyHOc9R9BuOXXyRr2mMV-qBSpZYRC6RZAv95p8CoKkDGywAOxSmTU2AoVUgqQ2Ip9ReFwx5z7GGbgZCZ3aC1q/s1600/IMG_3521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyEE9Rl_5IijAA5M28SWsVrPGrWiKqUZmF3qdZeC9-g3KfLJ7qWNJkUzBRyHOc9R9BuOXXyRr2mMV-qBSpZYRC6RZAv95p8CoKkDGywAOxSmTU2AoVUgqQ2Ip9ReFwx5z7GGbgZCZ3aC1q/s320/IMG_3521.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Automatic pilot on the making - check the feet!</td></tr>
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Borkum where we stopped can at best be described as dull, but a day was needed to recover so we lounged on board and did just that. The next passage on to Nordeney didn't start well, while motoring out in steep waves through another of the inter-island gaps, we managed to scoop one over the bow which swept the whole deck back to the cockpit, dumping a fair amount over the top of the sprayhood. However it all calmed down once out of the tide rip and we began to settle into the routine. The next couple of days of light winds and sunshine took us to Helgoland where we stopped for tax free diesel to fill our 1000 litre tanks. This does seem a lot of diesel for a sailing boat, but handy not to have to think about filling for long stretches and also to be able to take full advantage of places like this. But boy, Helgoland (or Legoland as we started to call it) is a strange place. It has the feel of a tawdry airport duty free lounge, with lots of ratty old shacks flogging cheap spirits to the hordes of (almost exclusively) Germans who flock here from the mainland. To add to the atmosphere, Germany was playing France in the world cup while we were there, so the harbour was very excited with plenty of horns sounding as the French were sent home.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9JZKeVZbW-FjVtxnAqNrwVwf0IpVch0HV3hjYso7earoU1gF8y-PXqH_4fA0lMzVMMJrGYAxli-S_gE-a9b7-be7PJ8C0sSuRVBKrG2K7AoTndjxYDxNDXRAqLKirP-kagOd81XeLxMIC/s1600/IMG_3483.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9JZKeVZbW-FjVtxnAqNrwVwf0IpVch0HV3hjYso7earoU1gF8y-PXqH_4fA0lMzVMMJrGYAxli-S_gE-a9b7-be7PJ8C0sSuRVBKrG2K7AoTndjxYDxNDXRAqLKirP-kagOd81XeLxMIC/s320/IMG_3483.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scary moment in the Kiel Canal - it's huge and far too close</td></tr>
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But did we miss something? Maybe, as several people have subsequently told us how much they liked it and what wonderful nature they found there...<br />
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As a necessary concession after the traumatic first sailing day, we are heading into the Baltic rather than straight up to Norway. I don't feel too bad about this and although it is my third trip up the busy River Elbe and through the Kiel Canal in recent times (the second this year after delivering Fair Grace to Sweden), it at least gives me opportunity to finally get the tidal calculation right so rather than fighting the (up to 5 knot) current, it sweeps us up to the entrance of the canal, albeit in thunderstorms so heavy that the visibility is down to 10's of metres. This would be OK except for the fact that the Elbe has a narrow channel and is possibly the busiest stretch of shipping in the world, which made for some slightly tense moments but thankfully no close shaves.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8gIUTkgbW88dgboaclDW6q3LWLCi6DtQKyBmKoXTpLmf4pUwSdjqD_uadgYgen3bAHIyDGA4iogcmAReO5z8iMtPtFUy5zF7e4dolqF5Lxam1kOZyJD8Z1ce0Oh9LUcHGSkt9xYxY3Bm3/s1600/IMG_3512.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8gIUTkgbW88dgboaclDW6q3LWLCi6DtQKyBmKoXTpLmf4pUwSdjqD_uadgYgen3bAHIyDGA4iogcmAReO5z8iMtPtFUy5zF7e4dolqF5Lxam1kOZyJD8Z1ce0Oh9LUcHGSkt9xYxY3Bm3/s320/IMG_3512.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sea of jellyfish in Denmark</td></tr>
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In Kiel we motor around to the British Yacht Club, but feel like we've been tied up too much in the last few days so stick our anchor down close by. It is also near a small and funky little German liveaboard community that I'd noticed with Oli last time we were passing through. We feel spiritually more connected to them than to the British Club and take the dinghy there to tie up on our visits to town. We are pretty soon befriended by Flo and Emmo, who are both living there on their boats and who come over later for a beer.<br />
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This brings up the inevitable topic of Sula and how we feel about her. This could risk becoming boring, so I'll try to keep it brief.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
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We are overwhelmed with what a wonderful boat we have somehow managed to buy. No boat is perfect and there are certainly a few things we'd like to change or add, but for the most part she so closely does all the things we were looking for that we have to keep pinching ourselves. So, getting to the point, the only real problem is that we feel a bit self consciously up-market. I'll no doubt return to this topic, but will restrain myself for now. I row in to join Flo and Emmo and the rest of the characters to watch Germany annihilate Brazil in the semi finals. While it is initially celebratory, it soon becomes a bit sad as the Brazilian fans all over he stadium are shown in tears at losing 7-1.<br />
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The Baltic happily brings calm tranquil sailing and for the most part good weather. The only downside is that this really is a popular sailing area and so the relatively few anchorages tend to be a bit busy. This is probably the German/Baltic equivalent of the Solent I guess.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We manage to sail through another German naval firing area on the way north, but this time get away without being caught. Otherwise it's pretty uneventful except for Beatrice's 3rd birthday for which we burrow under our bed to choose from the stash of toys and other presents that we've managed to accumulate through the Winter. Decorations, cake, candles and fun.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9rVDfUSDHUFA0zSAOjJIdwYqr6L9iF8FokCiojB9vw0gDv929MmPr1fcULUQtYeGWO3gflVeM6gH8qOSLzJjsbFUB7oklzWzWLLKOTG5Cbqs8dZv9KqQW3TgeP2dymz-cMQkdJ7s1nP-q/s1600/1630.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9rVDfUSDHUFA0zSAOjJIdwYqr6L9iF8FokCiojB9vw0gDv929MmPr1fcULUQtYeGWO3gflVeM6gH8qOSLzJjsbFUB7oklzWzWLLKOTG5Cbqs8dZv9KqQW3TgeP2dymz-cMQkdJ7s1nP-q/s320/1630.jpg" width="218" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New friend - Aarhus jazz festival</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
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We're half way up Denmark before realising we haven't actually visited any towns. Aarhus is the chosen spot to visit, but as the mass of sheds and cranes appear through a drizzly afternoon, we wonder if we've made a mistake. We nose our way in, dodging fast ferries and freighters and tie up in a friendly little corner of a big harbour, next to a young couple with triplet boys of four. In spite of the dubious first impression, Aarhus is a lovely stop. There is a Jazz festival running, so we end up staying for 3 days, enjoying the music and meeting new friends. We're not sure if it's just this town, or the whole of Denmark, but there seem to be an implausible amount of unusually attractive women here and everyone is so fit and healthy looking... anyway, suffice to say that it's a very distracting stay. Even the pissed up guy who insists on broadcasting very loud 50's music from a nearby boat 'til the early hours can't really dampen the good vibe.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF-dVqAC7UQdXOlq5xW08Ue0dBuZT5qySP0ur9BxWwUI_o1dY2xkxYzOViaL2B7M8krdQD5i-YsS9lF9oXVDhlfF_eMDbjwIQniDr4zn1Lu1dRQ8l4af_c2OXRoxpr3_tnA8WtwshdLBZW/s1600/IMG_3604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF-dVqAC7UQdXOlq5xW08Ue0dBuZT5qySP0ur9BxWwUI_o1dY2xkxYzOViaL2B7M8krdQD5i-YsS9lF9oXVDhlfF_eMDbjwIQniDr4zn1Lu1dRQ8l4af_c2OXRoxpr3_tnA8WtwshdLBZW/s320/IMG_3604.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Skagen's rafted up yacths - low season</td></tr>
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The last stop before crossing the Skaggerak is Skagen. This is supposed to be a kind of Danish St Ives, with a famous artistic heritage. Well, it may have the heritage, but it's definitely short on charm and the harbour is the most packed that we've ever seen anywhere. We end up being part of a stack rafted 8 deep against a wall. It's so rammed that when any of the inner boats want to leave, the whole stack has to explode and reform in a new order depending on who is leaving soonest. We leave the following evening after spending the day wondering why on earth all these boats would want to come here.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise sailing the Skaggerak</td></tr>
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The Skaggerak has a slightly unsavoury reputation, but we have a tranquil crossing. We decided to set off in the evening so Bea could sleep through the most of it. It works well and we arrive in a wonderful protected anchorage on the south coast of Norway around lunchtime the following day. We feel like we've really arrived.<br />
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....More Norway stuff to follow....</div>
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Sula .... gates abouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02875245094074753279noreply@blogger.com0Lyngdal, Norway58.011007949782957 6.99829101562557.876461449782958 6.675567515625 58.145554449782956 7.321014515625