Chasing Venus (Gibraltar to Lanzarote)

 

We’re in Gib. Neither of us feeling on top form, we’ve spent a few days in a turmoil of whether to head to the Canaries or remain here. There’s so many factors to consider, and neither of us are in a good way to make these decisions. Being a little run down and not eating much, I succumbed to a bout of man flu which saw me miserably laid up in the cabin for 24 hrs.

Mid afternoon, Chez decided that the rapid onset of a hacking cough and associated moany husband could conceivably be Covid, and decided to use up one of our self tests to be sure. After a gag inducing swab around, she exited the cabin, and I returned my congested head to the pillow. Five minutes later I hear the words:

“You’ve got Covid!”

Oh dear.... that’s put another spanner in the works to add to the bag of them that’s already been dropped on us.

Thankfully, I’d actually mis-heard, and incorrectly translated “It’s not Covid”.

Well that’s one less thing to worry about!

We finally decided that we should leave the boat here in the marina at La Linea while we head back to the UK for Audrey’s funeral.

I won’t dwell on the time spent in the UK - the funeral went as well as it could, with Cheryl, Simon and Martin all giving Audrey touching and heartfelt eulogy’s. A bonus of the trip for me at least, was that I was able to make a few visits to my mum. All the planets aligned so I also managed to see all my far flung siblings in the short time we were there.

The flight back to Gibraltar and the associated Covid tests went without issue - both, once again, thankfully testing negative.

Once back to the welcoming cocoon of Serenity Now, we spent a busy day doing the final few jobs to ready ourselves for the departure to the Canaries.

Left the rock and it’s quiff of cloud just before first light the next day, and as I write this, the first entry on our passage, we are 2/3 of the way across the two way traffic transit zone. Tangiers is in sight, and with the wind, tide, and some of the swell helping us along, we’re making surprisingly good progress - reaching more than 10 knots once or twice as we sail surfed down the waves in the rolly conditions.

Chez currently has Toto’s song ‘Africa’ on a continuous loop in her head, and occasionally sings me a ‘ Der de det der-der det der ’

Once we make it across the strait, and out of the reported range of the Orca attacks, I thought it was a good time to fit the second rudder that attaches onto the Hydrovane. It turns out that this was most definitely not a good time to do that. With Chez holding onto my gangly legs, I draped myself over the back of the transom and began trying to wiggle the cumbersome rudder onto its shaft. With our forward momentum and a large following swell, this was no easy task. Twice my face was fully dunked in the water as large waves chose that moment to come up over the transom step and drench me. In hindsight (or Cheryl site if you prefer) the inevitable happened. As I ineffectually waggled the heavy rudder around, my self inflating life jacket got wet. Incorrectly sensing mortal danger, it gave a loud pop and a hiss and rapidly inflated. Not the ideal situation by any means. At that stage I gave up - Round One to the rudder.

The last fading silhouette of the European coast disappears as the sun sets. It’s been a great four years in the Med with so many memories.

Can it really be four years?? - Chez says ‘no’ it’s three and a half!

With the coming of darkness - which perfectly coincided with Chez trying to get her head down - the strong wind and the large swell behind us started to play havoc with the autopilot. A screeching ‘beep beep beep’ signalling that the course could not be maintained. This meant I had to hand steer in roller coaster conditions with the boom repeatedly noisily whipping across and jibing. There was a jumble of hard to interpret boat’s lights in front and around us. With fogged up glasses (...and unable to distinguish between red and green) and a big swelly sea that I couldn’t see, it all made for a quite stressful couple of hours. Using a bright star as my reference (which turned out to be Venus) I carried on steering until my shoulders ached, then once again, we found the sweet spot - managing to balance the swell, wind, sails and steering and returned to autopilot for the remainder of the night

Day 2

We’re doing a shift pattern that seems to suit us: Chez gets her head down (or tries to...) from 9pm until 3am, then I go off to bed until breakfast. I was woken early today though to assist an excited Chez with the repatriation of a shiny silver and blue flying fish who’d inadvertently landed on deck.

Other wildlife news of the day:

A small dolphin pod passed within 100m and said ‘Hi’ with one of them making two big splashing breaches clean out of the water.

A small browny/yellow wren/warbler sized bird dropped off for the briefest of rests on our lifelines - he was gone after a couple of seconds, possibly not realising that the scary man he’d landed next to, was in fact a non-scary one time member of the YOC: The Young Ornithologist Club.

The strong following wind from day 1 disappeared and was replaced by the much more familiar situation of having barely a whisper of breeze on the nose.

The reduced wind & swell meant I was finally able to fit the rudder to the Hydrovane. (Round Two to me!)

We then had our first tentative attempts at using it (it’s a substitute for the autopilot and uses no power), for a first try, it was not perfect, and probably not the best conditions either, but mechanically it’s doing what it’s supposed to do, we just need to set it up and adjust it in appropriate wind.

As the sun sets we pass Casablanca, I’d like to say you can hear the evening call to prayer from the minarets and the smell of exotic spices is wafting over the water to us from crowded bazaars... but we’re about 20 miles offshore, so no sounds or smells, and only a slight glow on the horizon signals its passing.

Day 3

I awoke at dawn from a nasty dream, I can’t remember exact details, but the bizarre final line: ‘There are false gods in the bowl’ was the only bit that stuck. Chez had had a poor shift from 3am to dawn - flappy sails, increasing rolly swell and the wind turning enough to need the motor on, on the upside, at dawn she was visited by two large dolphins.

Highlights of the day: saw a few tankers, a war ship and a massive cruise ship all a long way off. Other than that - a few sail changes, a little bit of motoring, more tinkering (..again unsuccessfully) with the Hydrovane and an afternoon nap to try and find out more about that false god bowl - but no luck on that front: the mystery remains. Mainly just blue sea as far as the eye can see today. Nothing to report from the overnight shift other than it being cold and dark.

Day 4:

Woke to the sound of Chez unfurling the sails. Other than an occasional tanker we are all alone on the sea. There’s sufficient breeze to fill the sails and the sky is a cloudless blue.

We’ve slotted well into the rhythm of naps and watches, and are both happy with our allotted shifts - well I was until Chez showed me her amazing photos of the sunrise this morning - absolutely beautiful, shame to have missed it.

It turned into a bit of a mixed day sailing wise: sails up, speed along well, wind dies, wrong direction, as I write this (just before sunset) we’re back on course, but plodding along at 2.5knots... no worries, we’re in no hurry.

Not much happens on my night shift generally: there’s the occasional excitement of a light or two from another ship, usually a long long way away. There are some aspects of the night I’ve mentioned in previous entries, which now seem commonplace, that are probably now worth a second mention.

The sky: The waning crescent moon doesn’t rise until after midnight at present, and in the absence of any clouds, the sky goes from pure blue to pitch black after sunset. There’s no light pollution, so the stars and constellations shine in all their glory as if someone has been liberally sprinkling icing sugar over black velvet. I don’t consciously look for them, but probably see 3 or 4 shooting stars each night. Another previously mentioned commonplace sight - but still fascinating - is the magical sparkle of the phosphorescent creatures in the waves as our bow cuts through the water.

Other than that - nights are cold, damp, long and boring.

Chez, was struggling to sleep with the constant large swell, took over early from me on watch - she’s not feeling the best.

Day 5:

Both a little brighter this morning - amazing what a sunrise and the now regular (for Chez at least) dolphin visit at dawn can do to lift the spirits. I did a bit of spring cleaning - moving the life raft that’s dominated our lounge for the last week and generally making the whole place ship shape. Still not much wind, so motoring along once again.

Having done the chores for the day, I decided to try my luck one more time and trail the fishing lure behind us. It took a few hours, but happy to report that a mid afternoon squeal from the reel turned out to be another successfully landed tuna - not huge, but the biggest I’ve caught so far. The rod’s miracle run continues: 8 casts, 7 fish, 1 stick.

Evening turned to night - tuna for dinner. Very rolly night, Chez unable to sleep relieves me at midnight instead of 3am, I am able to sleep and do so until just shy of dawn, when a very tired Chez is ready to try again so we swap out - and I get to see a sunrise!

Lanzarote is now in sight, but that can wait for the next entry.

Bye for now