Author: Mate

Thursday 19 – Sunday 29 September

On Thursday afternoon we set off out of the Ria de Pontevedra in sun and haze, again spotting dolphins between us and the ubiquitous viveros.  Less than three hours later, out at sea and rounding the Peninsula del Morrazo, all was flat calm and thick fog/sea mist, so with visibility of less than half a mile, we employed radar to help us keep a lookout for the many local vessels not transmitting AIS, thereby invisible on our chart plotter screen.  The log records 23 miles of “a long, foggy, tedious motor” that was also cold and damp; indeed, winter/night passage thermals and waterproofs were deployed.  At least once the mist lifted a little, the view was different, and at dusk we anchored just outside Moaña marina.

After a reasonably quiet and comfortable night, on Friday morning we called the marina manager, who welcomed us into a somewhat tricky berth at the inside end of the central pontoon. Skipper managed a neat three-point turn in a space just longer than the boat, to bring us stern to the walkway, so it was easy to chat to everybody and his dog as they paused to gaze in curiosity.  We met a Welsh couple on an ‘Airbnb’ break, who live within 10 miles of our ‘home town’, and a couple of Irish guys taking their Westerly Oceanlord back to Howth, near Dublin, after a trip to the Mediterranean…of 14 years.

We can only hope they’ve had weather more favourable for their passage North than we are currently experiencing.  Now in the last, Southernmost of the Rias Baixas, and only around 20M from the Portuguese border, all kinds of weather systems out in the Atlantic are causing swell that would be uncomfortable and winds that locally are either non-existent or from the wrong direction for us to continue our journey South.  It is the time of the Autumn Equinox, when unsettled conditions are to be expected, and we knew, when we began our cruising season as late as the end of May from the far Southwest of the UK, that we would be likely to run out of easy Northerlies before we’d reached the Algarve, but it’s still a little frustrating.  However, on the good side, it is much warmer this far South, and Mate’s just unearthed a Spanish phrase book, so she has something to fill spare time – for when we’re back in Spanish waters, after Portugal…

So, what to say about Moaña?  Well, the tourist websites only mention it in passing, as a possible base from which to explore the interesting towns and sights of the area, which is not a promising beginning.  The pilot book indicates a Sunday market on the waterfront…which there wasn’t, but we ended up there long enough to find a small market along the quay on Wednesday.  Among the stallholders were a number of older ladies with a few items from their own gardens, and we had an interesting time trying to persuade them we didn’t need large quantities, but couldn’t understand their prices.  Eventually, holding out a handful of mixed coins allowed them to take the right money – never more than a few cents and all very good-natured.

Skipper found an excellent artisan bakery; at least the “one for you, Señor, no charge” Florentine biscuit offered by an attractive young señorita seemed to go down well.  Behind the pleasant sea-facing promenade of bars, restaurants, a bandstand and a large children’s playground, the rest of the town is sadly run-down: many shops are empty, graffiti adorns every available surface, and the Carrefour supermarket was the scruffiest and most chaotic we have encountered.  Meanwhile, back at the marina, just the other side of the inadequate breakwater, the passenger ferry to Vigo (€2.25 per person per journey) comes in at a quarter to each hour between 0700 and 2200 Monday – Saturday (except for some unexplained reason at 1100 on Saturday), initiating a period of snatching ropes and lurching of every vessel in the marina, until it blows its horn lustily on departure on the hour and a collective sigh of relief is breathed all around.

For a modest mooring fee, we were able to take advantage of water and power to work through some of the jobs list, the persistent mist making a lie of the old adage that cruising is boat maintenance amidst attractive scenery, but soon it was time for another new view, and on Wednesday evening we wove our way out of the marina, much easier facing the direction of departure, even in a light cross-wind.  Turning Northeast once clear of the viveros, we motored in pleasant late sunshine under the 38.8m-high Rande suspension bridge that spans the narrowest point of the Ria de Vigo, up into the Ensenada de San Simon, where we found an attractive anchorage in the SW corner, whose main entertainment was a railway line running along the bank, a group of colourful kite surfers across the bay, and a family of seven swans-a-swimming, or eight the second morning.  We enjoyed a peaceful few days of mellow mists and warm sunshine in calm waters, amidst lovely scenery… without ever venturing ashore.

Tuesday 17 – Wednesday 18 September

The pilot book says it would be a pity to explore this area of Galicia and miss Combarro, so on a hazy, sunny morning we weighed anchor to motor five miles further up the Northern shore of the ria, amidst masses of dolphins.  We anchored neatly alongside a large American-flagged catamaran, off the tiny beach on the Southern edge of the marina, and paddled the dinghy to land on the sand and lug the laundry up to a public launderette.  As elsewhere in Spain, it was scrupulously clean, and the washing machines were ‘pre-plumbed’ with detergent and softener.  This makes them reasonable value, except for specialist technical clothing or those with sensitive skin.

On the Wednesday, we went ashore again to do the tourist thing and wander the narrow granite-paved streets of this quaint fishing village that dates from the 1700s.  Apart from coachloads of daytrippers (get there early, before they’re up), the village features three distinctly Galician pieces of architecture:

casas marineras are the fishermen’s houses, with balconies known as solanas that are bathed in sunshine, to sit and drink in the sea views; these jut out on the first floor, the living quarters above the storage areas for fishing nets and equipment

hórreos are small buildings in wood, stone or a combination, raised on stilts that are often topped with mushroom capstones; these are used to dry and store grain or fish

cruceiros are stone crosses, positioned at junctions or crossroads, where evil may otherwise enter the community; unique to Combarro, the figures adorning the crosses are usually Christ facing inland, and the Virgin facing the sea.

An elderly lady standing in a doorway encouraged us to sample her locally-produced white wine, Albariño: it was excellent, and a reasonable price.  Opposite the row of tourist-tat shops are shoulder-to-shoulder restaurants, with delicious smells of freshly caught seafood tempting passers-by.

On returning to the boat, we discovered the lines of our lobster pot had apparently been cut, and the pot lost beneath too many metres of water to be retrieved – as if we were seriously threatening the livelihoods of the locals?  During the afternoon the mist came down thickly, but we were able to see a little egret on the beach, and more dolphins right beside us in the anchorage.

Sunday 15 – Monday 16 September

Having completely missed the second National Park, the Islas Cortegada in the Northeast corner of the Ria de Arousa, we motored among the dolphins and through the viveros to Vilanova, where the very helpful harbour master allowed us to fill up our water tanks free of charge.  Meanwhile, Mate prepared lunch to eat underway, and we were soon enjoying sailing at 6+ knots under full main and genoa.  As we continued Southwest, the wind died to nothing and by 1900 we were comfortably settled at anchor in the lee of Isla Ons, the third National Park.  Well-researched as ever, Skipper had previously applied for and obtained permits both to sail in these restricted waters, and to anchor here overnight.

Bright and early on Monday morning, picnics were prepared and walking boots donned to explore this stunning island.  It was warm and sunny, and until the trip boats brought the first tourists four kilometres from the mainland late morning, we had the place to ourselves.  The tracks are well-marked and follow the perimeter of the island, through a surprising variety of scenery for an area only about three miles long and half a mile wide, a total area of 414 hectares.  The Atlantic National Parks represent the peaks of what was a mountain range consisting of schist, granite and gneiss.  The lighthouse stands at the highest point, 128 metres above sea level.

The East coast, looking towards the Ria de Pontevedra, is lower-lying with a series of beaches.  There is a small semi-permanent community near the ferry landing, and a campsite well hidden in the trees.  Every building carried a banner declaring “World Heritage Site – No; Island Rights – Yes”.  Facing the Atlantic Ocean, the West coast is rugged with vertical cliffs, jagged rocks and sea caves, known as furnas.  Of these, the roof of the ‘Burato do Inferno’ has long since fallen in, and is said to echo the cries of the dead who remain trapped between Heaven and Hell.

The island has a plateau-like relief, with several flat peaks that form scrubby moorland of heather, gorse, blackthorn, ferns and an endemic Retama broom, Cytisus insularis, that is unique to this and Salvora island, that lies just Northwest.  On the more sheltered East coast are small stands of bay (laurel), Pyrenean oak, willow and elder (alder) trees, as well as some eucalyptus and pine, deliciously fragrant in the warm sunshine.

Flora must be able to survive the harsh environment of salt wind and dry sunshine, and these include European beachgrass, Portuguese crowberry, field pennycress, mallow bindweed, sand couch-grass, Linaria arenaria and curry plant, also wafting on the breeze.  Also present are sea fennel, Calendula suffruticosa (subespecies algarbiensis), sea thrift and garden angelica, where the cormorants build their nests.

The tidal waters around the island contain sea urchins and anemones, a wide variety of shellfish, including winkles and crabs, and the local delicacies of goose barnacles and octopus.  On sandy bottoms are found razor clams, cuttlefish and hermit crabs.  The abundance of marine organisms make the island a perfect nesting site and transit point for many species of birds.  It hosts the largest concentration of yellow-legged gulls and common shags in the world, whose neighbours include Caspian gulls, the red-billed chough and Alpine swift.  There are smaller numbers of common guillemot, lesser black-backed gull and European storm petrel.

Seasonal visitors include great cormorants and Northern gannets in Winter, Sandwich terns and Balearic shearwaters in Summer.  On the coastal fringes, plovers, common sandpipers, herons, egrets, turnstones, curlews and other waders are common.  Nesting among the trees are colonies of birds of prey: northern goshawk, common buzzard, common kestrel, European nightjar, and peregrine falcon; and small birds: tits, warblers, blackbirds, woodpigeons, finches, turtledoves and greenfinches.

Nailed to treetrunks in one area are a number of bat boxes, offering prime real estate to the common pipistrelle, serotine bat and greater horseshoe bat.  We saw evidence: scrapes, scat and corpse, of wild rabbit, and other small mammals recorded here include hedgehog, shrew, mole, house and wood mouse, brown and black rat, and otter.  Creatures introduced by humans and posing a real threat to native species include wildcat and American mink.

Being a warm, soft summer’s day, many butterflies flitted around us; the guide notes Old World swallowtail and Harlequin species, of which I think we saw the latter, as well as small and large white and something akin to Meadow Brown.  We also Orthoptera – grasshoppers and crickets, among the insect species recorded.  Along the tracks were information boards, where we saw (thankfully the only) examples of ladder snake, southern smooth snake and viperine water snake, but we did spot an ocellated lizard, the largest European lizard, and many Iberian wall lizards.

In the waters around the island have been spotted short-beaked and bottlenose common dolphin, sperm and fin whales, loggerhead and leatherback sea turtles.

A well-earned beer slaked the thirst before we paddled back home and made our way into the Ria de Pontevedra, where we tucked behind a headland between Puerto Novo and Sanxenxo marinas for a quiet night in spite of the built-up nature of this area, very popular with Spanish holidaymakers in the season.

Wednesday 11 – Saturday 14 September

We left the Ria de Muros with almost no wind but in lovely sunshine.  Once out in open water, we were able to set the gennaker with the wind behind us, but after a couple of hours it became too strong, and the beautiful red sail was furled away again, and replaced by the staysail alone [if the wind is far enough to our stern, the mainsail blankets the foresail, and sometimes just a foresail can move us along very comfortably at a reasonable speed].

It became a day of sail changes: at lunchtime the wind veered a little into the NNE, and was blowing 23 knots, a good F5, so the mainsail went up with two reefs, and within the hour the wind eased so one reef was shaken out.  At the mouth of the Ria de Arousa we enjoyed a lovely sail through the first of the National Parks, the Islas Sálvoras, with white sand beaches and beautiful pink granite rocky islands – just like parts of Brittany.  We’d picked out a nice-looking anchorage off a pretty beach near Palmeira, on the NW coast of the ria.  As we approached, a horse and foal were being given a workout through the surf, and the fragrance of warm pine and eucalyptus wafted tantalisingly across the water.

It was so lovely, we stayed a couple of nights, enjoying peace and quiet (after the locals buzzed off in their noisy motorboats – why do they have to anchor so close to us?).  We motored the dinghy into the tiny harbour, where she tried to look inconspicuous amongst the traditional fishing craft, and wandered in the heat of siesta time around the desultorily vacant small town.

The next day we paddled the dinghy to the beach, to stroll along the water’s edge, and even swim along the shoreline.

On Saturday morning we decided we needed to replenish the fridge, so we pottered a couple of miles further into the ria to another anchorage off the beach at Pobra do Caraminal, just outside the marina which lies behind a small but noisy and smelly commercial quay.  Again, we paddled ashore and pulled the dinghy well up above the high-water line, crossed the road and were in the supermarket – how convenient!  Having stocked up, we moved a few miles away from civilisation to anchor again off Playa de Carregeros.

Sunday 8 – Tuesday 10 September

By now very ready to continue our own journey Southwards, we slipped our lines and crawled out into the bay against the incoming tide, until we cleared the Torre de Hercules, majestic in the evening light.  We were keen to sail out beyond the 100m contour, into water deep enough to minimise the risk of snagging unseen fishing pot marks overnight.  With the barometer high and a fresh North-Nor’Easterly behind us, we made good progress in spite of a slightly contrary swell, keeping the first reef in the main and balancing it with the staysail.  As ever, after a week in port resulting in the usual harbour rot and loss of sea legs, Mate enjoyed the first watch rather less than her Skipper, but things did settle down in the early hours of the morning.

On the plus side, she does love night sailing; the waxing half moon was very bright until it set around 0230, clear skies meant a canopy of stars, and good visibility to shore gave her favourite views of land, frequently punctuated by reassuring beams from the lighthouses along the coast.

After some cosy warm rest, things looked a lot better when she came back on watch at daybreak on Monday morning, enhanced enormously by a personal performance by numerous groups of dolphins, and a brief visit by what she thinks was a minke whale.  Typically, after too much wind at the beginning, it died completely for the last ten miles, enabling her to change up from staysail to genoa, as we rounded Cabo Finisterra, the end of the pilgrimage for the most dedicated peregrinas/os, and the point furthest West on the Spanish mainland.  As usual, a marked drop in wind speed often means a considerable change of direction, and sure enough it soon filled in, from the North Nor’west.

By lunchtime, we were comfortably anchored in the Ria de Muros, just South of the town that gives this ria its name, on the North shore in the Ensenada de San Francisco.  The scenery was beautiful: rolling green hills with rocky outcrops behind red-tiled roofs and white sandy beaches.

Sunday 1 – Saturday 7 September

We passed a restful week in this interesting city, making new friends at the marina and completing our version of the Santiago pilgrimage (peregrinación in Spanish – like the falcon?).

The Cidade Vella, the old walled city is but a short climb from the marina, and is full of attractive architecture and ancient religious buildings; monasteries, convents and theological colleges, as well as Catholic churches.  Narrow streets wind among overhanging balconies and upper floors, with bars and restaurants propping up many a corner.  A peaceful formal garden shelters the imposing tomb of Lieutenant-General Sir John Moore KB, a Scot who rose through the ranks of the British army, and died here in 1809 having led his troops in a successful defence against the invading French during the Peninsular War.

Wandering downhill towards the port and the ‘inner’ city marina, we found ourselves in Maria Pita Plaza (Praza in Galician).  In 1589, on the orders of Queen Elizabeth I, Sir Francis Drake led English troops to lay siege to the city.  Following the death of her husband during the attack, Maria Pita tore the English standard from a lance and killed Drake’s brother with it, with the cry “Let all honourable men and women follow me”.  So fierce was her rage, the 4000 inhabitants fought off three times that number of fearful Englishmen.  She has come to represent the strength and determination that characterise the women of A Coruña.

Maria Pita’s statue faces the imposing edifice of the City Hall.  As we emerged onto the waterfront, we discovered why the city is known as the ‘Ciudad de cristal’ – glass city.  Originally fishermen’s houses, the buildings that line the Avenidas de Montouto and da Mariña are completely glazed on the façades of their upper floors.  The windows enclose balconies, and each is slightly different in design.  Forming a terrace, they are spectacular.  Looking closer, one notices a plethora of Modernist and Art Nouveau styles of architecture, including stonework, moulding and wrought iron.

We took in a little culture at the Fine Arts Museum, and sampled several local specialities, including Estrella beer, octopus and empanada – a savoury filled pastry.  There was masses more we didn’t find time for, including a ride on the tram along the longest promenade in Europe, from which we’d have enjoyed close ups of the Torre de Hercules, originally a Roman lighthouse and still in operation, the Japanese-designed Domus Museum of Mankind, and a spherical glass funicular to the Mirador San Pedro.  We were surprised to discover in the Plaza del Humor that some well-known heroes of comedy have transcended borders to become popular abroad: Shakespeare, Laurel and Hardy, Fred and Barney from The Flintstones, and Asterix the Gaul among them.  [Note to self-catering visitors: the Mercado, market hall, on the North edge of the Plaza del Humor, has a good selection of produce, butchery, fish and delicatessen stalls; below it is a Gadis supermarket that will deliver free when you spend €60 – just find the right checkout and the helpful assistants do it all for you].

Our daughter made this same trip some years ago, whilst waiting for the right weather to set off on John Laing, an OYT South tall ship, across the Bay of Biscay to Dublin.  She told us it was a must-do.  Skipper’s parents have ‘done’ the Camino twice, and another friend of ours has also walked one of the pilgrimage routes, discovering the wonderful Galician white wine, Albariño, along the way.  We were lucky with a lovely sunny day, and followed a route Mate found on a website to take in all the key sights of this ancient city, the third most important in Christendom, after Jerusalem and Rome.

Of course, we had some boat jobs to attend to as well as ‘touristing’, whilst waiting for the right weather to ‘go around the corner’ to start heading South again.  But while we were here, we took advantage of a straightforward train journey a little way inland, to Santiago de Compostela.

Once again we selected just one museum, deciding on the Museum of Pilgrimage, which triggered a lively conversation about religion versus tourism, and their relative financial impact.  Refreshed by wonderful hot chocolate con churros at Café Metate, a former chocolate factory where they still make their own chocolate, we strolled through the covered market, a series of domed-roofed halls each specialising in different foods: butchery, fish, fresh fruit and vegetables.

Disappointed by our visit to the mighty Cathedral itself, currently an enormous building site with almost the entire interior clad in scaffolding and plastic, we nonetheless enjoyed the grand finale of the Praza do Obradoiro, the square that fronts the West façade in all its Romanesque glory.  Cynical as we may be, it was still moving to experience the triumph and elation of pilgrims realising they had finally reached the pinnacle of their journeys.

Wednesday 14 – Saturday 31 August

Just as we were ready to leave Bilbao, the Guardia Civil decided to “have a chat with us” and fill in the same paperwork all over again as we’d already completed with the Customs guys a week ago.  Needless to say, we smiled sweetly and remained polite and helpful…

We had a final couple of quiet nights in the bay, before finally heading West again on Wednesday, lowering the Basque courtesy flag as we cleared the outer breakwater.  We made an 11-hour passage, dropping anchor just outside Santander, in what looked like a quiet bay, for an overnight stop.  Once all the day trippers had left for home, and the golfers on the course above us had given up for poor light, it was just us – and the wedding couple being photographed on the beach against the sunset.  Unfortunately the swell kicked back in, and it wasn’t the most comfortable of anchorages.

On Thursday we covered only 14 sea miles in a continuing uncomfortable swell, with winds (also) up and down.  We followed the Rio (river) Suances to anchor alongside the training wall in what is effectively tidal salt marsh: a fascinating array of bird life including heron and an osprey.  At last we had a completely peaceful night.

On Friday morning it took us a while to lift the second (kedge) anchor at our stern, placed to ensure we didn’t turn and block the channel as the tide rose and fell in the river.  Once back out at sea we enjoyed dolphin spotting, and avoiding lobster pot floats, set in 80 metres of water.  The coastal scenery here is beautiful, fronting a backdrop of majestic mountain ranges rolling away inland.  Eventually the afternoon breeze filled in, and we finally tied up safely, after trying to understand the well-meaning advice of the locals

[follow me: you’re heading for a sandbank; don’t tie up there, you’ll fall over
when the tide goes out]

to the right bit of the town quay wall in Ribadesella, in time for supper on land with a view of the sunset – our reward for a 55-Mile day.  A brief stroll through the busy streets suggested an attractive town with lots to offer the passing sailor: especially the unique way of serving the local ‘sidra’, or cider – by pouring it from a great height.

On Saturday we covered a further 26 Miles in fairly light winds to slip into Marina Yates in Musel, on the West side of Gijón.  Now in Asturias, we received a warm welcome from Montse, who speaks really good English and couldn’t do enough to help.  Once again, we completed the appropriate paperwork, in our experience required in every Spanish port, along with passports, crew list, insurance and registration documents.  Cirque du Soleil was in town, right next to us in the ferry port, with Kooza, but having seen a different show at the Royal Albert Hall in January, we didn’t indulge this time, just enjoying snatches of the soundtrack.

We spent longer than we expected here, dealing with some routine servicing, dithering about the forecast wind conditions outside the very sheltered marina, and cycling into town for provisioning and a little sightseeing.  Mate collected an impressive set of bruises down both calves when Daisy, her bicycle, decided to have a strop at a pedestrian crossing, and throw herself on the pavement complete with two loaded panniers – and Mate wasn’t even riding her at the time.

On Friday 23 August we finally slipped our lines, paused to take on around 500 litres of diesel (€ ouch €), and had a somewhat surreal day, sailing West some 400 Miles South of the UK, but hearing clearly on the VHF radio Falmouth Coastguard dealing with an incident in ‘home’ waters.  Fortunately we also picked up the closing message that the divers had been found safe and sound.  Meanwhile we enjoyed a comfortable beam reach, heading in the same direction as the relatively low swell.  We settled for the night in a lovely spot just above a small castle on a bend of the river above San Esteban de Pravia, enjoying a brief swim after the heat of the day.

On Saturday we took the dinghy to shore, and found a somewhat dubious landing beside some rickety fishermen’s platforms that jut out into the river.  We secured l’arret carefully and walked beside a main road uphill to find a small town with a smaller supermarket.  Having ticked off almost none of the items on the shopping list, we then spotted a group of shops we’d missed on the way in, one of which was a much bigger, more pleasant store with a good butcher’s counter, fresh fruit and vegetables, and even a few gluten free items.  It turns out that Soto del Barco is a pilgrim rest point on the Camino: one can only hope the accommodation offers more than the provisioning.

We sat out a rainy Sunday that included a thunderstorm, wondering if Summer was coming to an end already.  We were entertained trying to be twitchers and identify local bird life: we definitely saw a kingfisher, what might have been a buzzard high overhead, and a large version of a dipper along the water’s edge.

Not in Spain, but in the UK, Bank Holiday Monday was cloudy with very little wind.  We set off anyway and enjoyed a pod of dolphins leaping off Cabo Vidio.  With better wind in the afternoon, we made some good speed, ending the day 32 Miles further along the coast and a couple upriver to Navia, where we had a free night alongside the Club Náutico Deportivo pontoon, just below a road bridge.  Once again, we were the object of much interest, with people standing staring from the quay wall, and often taking photos.

The following morning, we took a brief stroll around this rather uninspiring town, finding a supermarket that sprawled endlessly around odd corners – not uncommon here.  After lunch onboard we slipped the lines and in a repeat of the previous day’s conditions, pottered another 19 Miles to the Ria de Ribadeo.  Once again, we pushed against the swell to enter the ria from the sea, finding much calmer water inland of the coastline, where we dropped the mainsail as the waves crashed against the rocks, before passing under the 30-metre high road bridge to anchor off Castropol, on the Eastern side.  The view up the ria towards the hills was reminiscent of the Lake District, especially when it became shrouded in mist.

This ria (river estuary) is wide and shallow, with sandbanks that shift constantly, so we were careful to watch our depth sounder readings, and also not to drop anchor on a vivero, where shellfish are farmed.  On Wednesday we needed to hop across to Ribadeo marina to take on water, but as we weren’t staying overnight in this bouncy, uncomfortable berth, we were charged twelve euros for the privilege.  We escaped briefly as soon as possible for a leg-stretch up the steep hill into the attractive old town, and were glad to slip back to our calm, comfortable anchorage for another quiet night.

We celebrated our 24^th wedding anniversary sailing the final leg of our not-quite pilgrimage along the seaward route of the Camino de Santiago de Compostela, 90 Miles to A Coruña.  We set off mid-afternoon from Ribadeo, raising the mainsail as we headed into the wind and out to sea.  Once clear of the ria, and heading West once again, the airs were light enough to use the gennaker instead of the genoa, but the wind soon backed, spoiling our angles, so we changed back to the genoa.  In the evening we had our first proper visit by dolphins, a group of six to eight playing around the boat for a good 15 minutes.  A Spanish warship, on patrol locally, called us over the VHF and politely requested most of the usual information, in a friendly manner.

We motored for a short spell, until at sunset the wind picked up and we were soon down to the first reef in the mainsail, and the staysail.  We were very puzzled by a visit from an owl, possibly a little-eared owl, who looked like (s)he wanted to land on our very unstatic tree, but gave up after a couple of circuits and headed back inland.  Soon afterwards Mate spotted a tail sticking up out of the water surface right alongside the boat, and a huge eye apparently looking us over…it might have been a trigger fish?

Mate took the first night watch, until 0200 on Friday morning, just keeping a good lookout for any shipping, especially fishing vessels, which are not always lit but are always unpredictable in their movements.  She enjoyed ‘joining the dots’ of the lighthouses, Los Sigüelos at Punta Estaca de Bares, and at Cabo Ortegal.  Our speed was so high, she was concerned we would arrive before daylight, and left the sails poorly set for the wind angle, to slow us down to six or seven knots through a fairly lumpy swell.

Very tired and cold by the time Skipper relieved her, she tried to doze in the cockpit, until called to assist with a gybe as we changed course somewhere off Cedeira at 0330.  Eventually conditions calmed a little and she snuggled below into a warm sea berth, glad to sleep properly.  Having maintained Force 4-5 all night from the NE or NNE, as light began to seep into the early morning sky the wind dropped right away; Mate’s entry in the log at 0730 reads “glad to get off the rollercoaster”.  We made a misty landfall to anchor opposite the city in Ensenada de Mera, settling down for a proper rest just as the rest of the world was beginning its working day, at 0925.  Distance: exactly 90M; average speed: for us, a very respectable 5 knots, over 18 hours.

After a lazy Friday afternoon and Saturday morning, we pottered across the bay to find a berth in Marina Coruña, amongst an array of international flags.  This is the first marina that feels transient: yachts are passage-making, rather than just sitting here most of the year going nowhere.  Between the marina and the commercial port area stands the Castillo de San Antón, now a museum of archeology and history, beautifully floodlit at night, while the marina is guarded from the breakwater by the port control tower, a distinctive ‘rugby goal post’ of glass and concrete.

Monday 5 – Tuesday 13 August

Having dozed away Sunday afternoon recovering from two days at sea, it was time to make our first landfall on Spanish, or rather Basque, soil.  We pottered across the harbour in the dinghy, to land at the private yacht club to which we were nearest – not to the warmest of welcomes, it has to be said.

Las Arenas

We wandered first along the promenade, originally populated by families of wealthy business owners around the turn of the last Century.  They commissioned famous architects of the day to design grand houses facing the sea, and well away from the heavy industries that used to line the banks of the Nervión River that leads to Bilbao itself.  We soon realised that we were well out in the leafy suburbs here at the port, and it’s some 10km by Metro into town.

Portugalete

We admired the Vizcaya Suspension Bridge, the oldest in the world and still in operation, carrying pedestrians and vehicles across the river by gondola every few minutes.  We passed on the opportunity to take the lift within the tower framework to walk across the overhead gantry – some 45 metres above the ground.  Instead we experienced our first taste of Basque food, treating ourselves to lunch; fortunately the waiter was patient with our mangled attempts at Spanish.

Pinpointing the local Metro station for another day, we were able to find our way to the tourist office in the city centre for a very helpful chat with one of their guides, a free map and the purchase of a travel card.  This is a bargain for anyone visiting the city from outside and for more than a day, as we both travelled on the one card (purchase price €3, minimum ‘loading’ and top-up €5), and saved around 40% on every journey by Metro, bus and tram – it more than paid for itself.  The Metro system is clean, simple and efficient.  It was designed by Norman Foster, and has only been running since the early 1990s.  Some of the stations in the city centre have entrances that look like giant prawns.

On one occasion, we landed at Getxo marina to walk along the breakwater and around the beach to explore the old fishing harbour at Algorta.  The brisk Northerly breeze was blowing straight onto the seafront, whipping the sand up into clouds across the promenade.  Soon rain accompanied the wind, and we took shelter up narrow flights of steps between old fishermen’s cottages to the heart of the village above: the square in front of the church of San Nikolas – the patron saint of sailors.

History

Bilbao, capital of the Basque Country and very proud of its heritage, is a relatively recent discovery for tourists.  Until the virtual collapse of heavy industries such as shipbuilding and mining in the 1970s, it was a thriving, dirty, noisy port.  After a period of decline, Government money was committed to beginning the re-invention of the city by inviting Canadian-American architect Frank Gehry to design the Guggenheim, a museum of contemporary and modern art.  It is now the most-visited attraction in the city; one evening we strolled along the riverbank where it is situated, enjoying the sunset reflecting in the titanium panels of its curvy construction.

Bilbao is a fairly small city, and the key sites of interest can be reached easily on foot.  We spent time in the Casco Viejo, the old city, just East of the river from the more modern districts.  Here we enjoyed the Plaza Nueva, a cloistered quadrangle lined with boutiques and pintxo bars: pintxo (pronounced pincho) are the Basque variation of tapas, savoury snacks mostly served on bread, and are enjoyed with a glass of local Rioja Alavesa or txakoli, a pleasant white wine; both are served chilled.  Every bar everywhere has platters of these lined up on the counter, and some are delicious works of culinary art.

Just outside the Plaza Nueva is the Basque Museum, the Euskal Museoa, also known as the Museo Vasco [Welsh-speaking readers may notice the apparent mutation of B to V; although Basque is thought to be the oldest living language in Europe, and similar to no other, I detected examples like this that made me think about the ancient Celtic cultural links].  In my quest to pinpoint something unique about each place we visit, I decided this was my museum choice of all those available, but to be honest, I learned more about Basque culture, customs and history from the Internet.

The museum is interesting, to a point; unfortunately every item is described in Basque and Castellan Spanish, but very little in English; some of the displays feel rather unrealistic and contrived, and there is a feeling of “well, we were donated this, so let’s exhibit it”. 

We found an interesting scale model of the region created in 3-D from nutmeg wood, that illustrates very clearly the rugged terrain of the Basque Country and the scattering of communities that inhabit it.  It is accompanied by a series of electronic tablets that give a well-written and informative selection of facts and figures about the region.  I’d have loved to be able to purchase a book or DVD of this to take away and absorb in comfort, as the room was extremely hot and one had to stand to read.

The museum illuminates a largely peasant community, whose livelihoods were earned shepherding, creating textiles from fleece and linen, or fishing, as well as local manufacturing of ironwork, ceramics and chinaware.  Many men went away to sea; it is said that the best seafaring explorers were Basque.  My favourite artefact was a 19^th Century red (!) linen shawl, exquisitely embroidered. 

We wandered some of the Seven Streets that formed the original heart of Bilbao, on our way to the riverside where we found the Ribera market hall and San Antón Bridge, from where the founding charter of the City was read in 1300.  Disappointingly the market was closed for the day, but the building is attractive in Art Deco ironwork and stained glass, and the array of pintxos on display was the best anywhere for variety and style.

In the centre of the Casco Viejo stands Santiago Cathedral, but it was heaving with tourists and entry was €5 each, so we opted instead for the much quieter San Nicolás Church, built in the shape of a Greek cross and decorated in the Rococo style.  Inside was all dark wood panelling, heavily decorated reredos and statues to various saints.

We also tried for a visit to the ‘Mama’ church, the Basilica of Begoña, 213 steps up a hillside to overlook the city…but it was closed for siesta.  Top tip: always check opening times before you decide to visit anything in Spain – we’ve been caught out more than once.  It was a good view over the city, and a peaceful atmosphere in the small plaza beyond the East wall of the church.

We strolled across the Arenal bridge, past the attractive façade of the Arriaga Theatre, and into Abando main railway station, to admire a stunning stained glass window that depicts various aspects of Basque life.  Crossing the Plaza Circular, location of a very helpful tourist information office, we headed a short way along the main ‘artery’ of the city: Gran Via Don Diego López de Haro (known as Gran Via) is a sort of Champs Élysées of important government buildings and designer shopping.  Down a side street is Café Iruna, famous for stunning tiling and Art Nouveau wood panelling, but they couldn’t offer Earl Grey tea, so we moved on, pausing at a delicious bakery nearby to sample local specialities.

Northwards to the riverside, we crossed the Zubizuri pedestrian bridge, a modern construction with an amusing subtext: the ‘floor’ of the bridge was built of glass panels, presumably so you could see the water below your feet as you crossed (why would you want to??), but it rains a lot in Bilbao, and when it rained, the surface became dangerously slippery, so it’s been carpeted with black rubber, obliterating the glass and view.  The texture of the matting is reminiscent of astro-turf, and walking on it is a very strange sensation.  Safely North of the river Nervión, we made our way to the funicular station for a short ride up another hillside to take in the spectacular views of the city in a botxo (hole) from the Artxanda Park viewpoint.

The final highlight of our time in this fascinating and attractive city was the Alhóndiga, now known as Azkuna Zentroa.  Originally the city’s wine warehouse, it was reimagined by Philippe Starck and is now a centre for contemporary art, culture and leisure.  At street level, the exterior of the building looks as it did in 1905, but as you walk up a broad ramp and under one of four arches, you find yourself in a vast atrium, used for temporary exhibitions.  The interior contains a series of huge cubes, used for a variety of purposes, supported on 43 unique columns.  The leisure facility is at the top of the building, and includes a long, narrow swimming pool with a (opaque) glass bottom that can be viewed from below [when it is not closed for maintenance].

Urban greenery

We enjoyed a number of the plentiful green spaces the city offers, including the Jardines Albia, near Café Iruna, reminiscent of a leafy London square, and the Dña. Casilda Iturrizar Park behind the modern Palacio Euskalduna Conference and Performing Arts Centre.  The park was laid out in 1907 and makes good use of varying ground levels to create a series of inter-connected water features amid lawns and shade-giving specimen trees.  There is also a formal courtyard area, including a colonnade of tiled arches.

Not included in our itinerary, but of interest to sport lovers, is the ‘Cathedral to Football’, the San Mamés Stadium that is home to Athletic Bilbao.  This team has a unique philosophy in only employing players of Basque origin – and they are one of the top Spanish teams.

We rounded off the extended stopover with two nights on the visitors’ pontoon managed by the local tourist office in Santurtzi, famous as a landing port for sardine fishing boats.  As well as our nights at anchor in the harbour bay, our time with easy access to land and facilities was also free, including power and water.  This is very much a typical workaday Spanish town, where we found a convenient launderette and some reasonable local shops for food, fruit and vegetables.

Friday 2 – Sunday 4 August

It was obviously an important day, as the Patrouille Acrobatique de France, the French version of the Red Arrows, performed a fly past in the diamond formation over our anchorage with the red-white-blue smoke streaming – very impressive.  We set off at noon, motoring into a light headwind until we had cleared the Antioche rock at the NW tip of the Ile d’Oleron.  Needless to say, the tide was against us as well, so it was a slow first ten Miles.

We took advantage of the conditions to hoist the mainsail in anticipation of improvements once we were able to turn SW, and finally started sailing properly mid-afternoon, unfurling the genoa onto a close reach, and adding the staysail for average speeds around seven knots on a flat sea – perfect!  We were even able to stand Jeanny down, as BobbyCool was able and willing to steer us reliably on our chosen course.  We covered a fairly respectable 65 Miles in the first twelve hours at sea.

Unfortunately, as darkness fell, so did the wind, and it became sloppy in the slight swell.  With almost no shipping around, when Mate took the watch around 0100 Saturday, she was able to enjoy “Sailing down the Milky Way” below a sky full of stars undimmed by the new moon, which had already risen and set.

When Skipper relieved her at 0600, first light, he was able to furl the genoa and drop the mainsail single-handed, and then set the gennaker to catch any whisper offered by the NE 1-2.  By noon it was hot and sunny, and we’d achieved the grand total so far of 85 miles – in 24 hours – and only 20 since midnight: somewhat dispiriting in this sea area of such fearsome reputation.  Moods were lifted by a shoal of tuna feeding on the surface and leaping clear of the sea…but they didn’t come close enough to the lure on the end of our fishing line.

By 1400 we were halfway, and at 1800 the log records enough wind (N4) to achieve a downwind speed of around 5 knots, and BobbyCool back in charge of steering.  At 2100 we crossed the border into Spanish waters, and the courtesy flag was duly changed as the gennaker was furled for the night.  With the genoa set, our first sighting of dolphins at dusk was a brief delight.

As Mate took the night watch, her priority was to keep me moving in the right direction, and as quietly as possible, so that Skipper could at last get a decent rest.  However, with the wind continuing to drop and swing around all over the place, she became increasingly frustrated, failing to gybe the genoa cleanly onto the other tack, which necessitated a visit up to the foredeck, harnessed of course, to untangle the sheets from the forward cleats – all in the pitch dark, as cloud obscured the stars.

Hearing the curses from down in the stern cabin, Skipper dragged himself back on deck to reassure – and remind – her there’s no way to sail a sailing boat without any wind, and reluctantly they called Trevver back into action, relieving BobbyCool in favour of Jeanny, who can be asked to steer when the engine is recharging the batteries he’s draining – somehow the wonderful new solar panel doesn’t do so well at night…

Of course, it wasn’t long before the wind filled in again, just a tantalising little, and Mate started to wonder if she should risk disturbing Skipper again by cutting the engine and trying to sail.  As it was still only 7 knots, she didn’t bother, but at the 0400 watch change, Skipper decided to get me back to being a sailing boat, and between them they set my mainsail and gennaker, before cutting the engine and Mate retiring below for a good (peaceful) rest.

At 0600 on Sunday morning, after 42 hours at sea, we’d covered the grand total of 157 Miles, and by 0830 the wind had died again, the sails were furled again and the engine was back on again, still 20 Miles short of the waypoint at the entrance to Bilbao harbour.  My crew knew we must be closing land, as there was a clutch of small fishing boats just ahead, but although daylight it was very overcast and cool with light drizzle.  The first yacht we passed in two days was flying a British ensign, and then at 1030 the cry went up: “Land Ahoy!” [Yes, that really does happen]

We made the final approach into Bilbao tortuously slowly, finally anchoring in the very sheltered large harbour at 1415.  We’d covered 189 Miles in 50.25 hours – not an impressive average speed, but we’d crossed a corner of this notorious stretch of sea without incident, drama or seasickness.  Our first impressions of the Basque country of Northern Spain?  Grey, very built up and industrial…but the next post will describe the pleasant surprise of our first foray ashore.

Thursday 1 August

After an early start to ensure Mate’s mother caught the 0802 train to Bordeaux, to begin her journey of several stages back home, a second batch of laundry adorned my lines before 0900.  A repeat visit to the market ensured a well-provisioned fridge, and then I had a brief wash down before my water tanks were refilled and I was made ready to go back to sea.

When the lock gates were finally reopened for the evening high water at 1830 I was on my way in no time, pausing only to allow Skipper to re-establish that a green light my side of the lock indicated that it was my right to leave (outward-bound vessels usually have priority), and the incoming local (smaller) yacht was obliged to wait for his red light to turn green…

The river was churning and sandy/muddy coloured, but we slipped easily back downstream under a grey, overcast and damp sky.  We pushed against a cold headwind out of the channel and across to Ile d’Aix, where we failed to set the anchor and took advantage of an available mooring buoy to spend a reasonably comfortable night amongst trip boats and alongside a very familiar shape of aluminium hull – maybe an old Allures?