Well, our weather gamble paid off for us, big time.
We left Denia late morning, aiming to join onto the tail end of the south bound gales we've just been experiencing, and in that way secure a fast off-wind passage. It worked out, and we flew.
Under sunny skies, and right up until Gibraltar, with a NE wind rarely falling below a F5 (and topping out at a F9), we swiftly covered the miles down the somewhat sterile Spanish east coast, towards our exit from the Med at Gibraltar.
The original plan was to day sail to Lagos, with nightly stops into maybe Cartegena, Almeria and then Gib itself, as we made our way to the Portugese Algarve. But that plan went right out the window as we rocketed along simply enjoying a great sail, to complete the 520 mile journey without a stop anywhere, and in just under 3 days.
We lost those stronger winds as closed to within 40 miles of Gibraltar where we'd transit the Straights and out into the Atlantic, but we were way ahead of schedule and felt lucky to get this taste of all conditions, on this our last Med experience for 2007.
They say that the Med was once a deep land locked valley, and that when the Atlantic Ocean did eventually break through between the twin pillars of Hercules (what’s now Gibraltar and Tanger), that the waterfall ran for 4,000 years.
Must have been a sight to see.
The gap this created, today called the Straights of Gibraltar is still for me, a wonder of the world.
It’s not just the cultural mix of Europe meeting Africa, with the stale beer / fish and chip smell of Gibraltar’s dirty streets on one side of the Straights, and the spicey but slightly rotting veggie smell of Morocco on the other, but the waters get a bit mixed up here too.
With cold Atlantic water continually drawn in eastward to replace the water evaporated by the hot Mediterranean sun, and winds that predominantly either flow east west or west east, and rarely north or south, this 18 mile wide narrow strip of water twix Europe and Africa is an interesting place to transit, especially in a small sail boat.
The differing salinity levels in either seas, plus significant temperature changes, means the two seas do not mix together without a struggle.
In some places the denser Med tries to dive below the less dense Atlantic, yet in other spots the colder Atlantic tries to get below the warmer Med!
Currents created can be seen to swirl and tumble to the surface, with distinct flow patterns and dividing lines. In one place it can be glassy smooth, and one metre over, there can be running waves. But you can also feel these forces acting below the surface layers, creating upsurges of water that can catch out the unexpected. And the helm can jump and pull in your hands.
It is not uncommon either for the straights to be filled with fog. It's fashioned by the warm air flowing out of the Med and meeting the colder water coming in.
Add finally, add on a good old fashioned Atlantic tidal movement of up to 2 metres, and you can imagine the confused waters it all creates.
I've seen one current run at up to 5 knots in one direction then reverse 3 hours later to pour back. Of course when that does happen, and if the winds strong and blowing the other way (and at time you can have 30 knots at Tarifa and dead calm at Gib 10 miles away), then big seas buld up like a swell, and one is faced with either trying to slide down them with the wind up your back and the water slowing down the boat, or the reverse where you rise and slam into a big headwind.
It frequently results in smaller sail boat not being able to get through the Straights when they want to.
Older sailors (in those past days where they had less powerful auxilliary engines than we tend to install today) can recall spending days reaching back and forth off the entrance waiting for the right moment to have a go and get into the Med.
Even pals sailing in company with us a few years back on a modern 36 footer, had to turn back and hide up in Tarifa for 24 hours, whilst luckily our larger and more powerfully engined yacht made it through OK.
Well this time, as we closed Gib, at night under engine over a otherwise flat sea with little wind, we felt those first tugs of the tidal streams upon our keel 20 miles before. One minute it was with us - another against us. We found it fun to use the water temperature sensor on the log to seek out the favourable streams, and try to avoid the negative ones.
Our pilot book had been checked out and we knew our best time to get through should be between 0400 and 1000, and we were aiming to fit into that window. But we nearly missed it as we met more and more of the negative streams, which reduced our speed over the ground by as much as 2 knots at times. All we could do was increase engine revs and go for it.
With the engine roaring, we finally drew close to a darkened Rock of Gibraltar around 0600. Dawn is getting later now - it was still pitch black.
Strange seeing the Rock all so dark. Years back when we spent time there (when Franco blockaded Gib) it was the regional hot spot. La Linea, the closest Spanish town, then still had dirt roads and was pretty shabby.
Today, it seemed as if roles are reversed, with La Linia lit up like a fairy cake and apparently all modern, and Gib looking dark, gloomy and a bit tired.
Anyway, as we slid by the many frieghters and tankers anchored both east and west of the rock itself, we immediately felt Swagman accelerate as she picked up what we were looking for. A 2 knot out-flowing stream. We stuck with it and it helped sweep us towards Spains most southerly point at Tarifa, and then ultimately helped us run on out into the Atlantic.
By sticking close to the north side of the Straights, maybe a mile off the Spanish southern coast, we rode that flow for the two hours it took to fly pass Tarifa Point where we clocked 9.5 knots over the ground.
The wind by Tarifa had started to puff up fitfully from the east (that is behind us), but we were going faster than it was blowing. So no point in hoisting sails just yet.
Weird as - but we should not have been so suprised - when we hit fog.
One minute slipping along in perfect sunshine looking at the Spanish coast with binos. The next, we were enveloped in a blanket of cold wet whiteness. All sounds suddenly dampened, and viz down to maybe 50 metres.
The mixture of cold water and hot air has created this fog every time we’ve been here before so can’t say it was unexpected - we simply forgot it was likely today!
So it was on with jackets and long pants (cold fog), radar set tuned and pinging, and with foghorn squealing every two minutes and eyeballs peeled all around, we motored / got pushed another 20 miles further west, dodging the copious fishing vessels who work the banks down off the Spanish shore. The outflowing current was still working for us 3 hours later and 20 miles out!
But do have to say I find it strange that some recreational fisherman will go as far as 15 miles offshore in fog in small RIBS. They are not easy to see in fog with the naked eye - in fact near impossible. But fortunately the Raymarine Radar is tuned fine enough to pick them out before we arrive. Think we gave most of them a bigger scare than they created for us, as we alternately appeared and then dissappeared past each one sometimes only 30 metres off.
It got to be late morning when we found ourselves back into the sun - and continued unchallenged towards Lagos some 120 miles further on.
The early Navtex and radio forecast was for easterlies F4 - but they never arrived. Mid arvo a westerly wind did appear - but it only reached sufficient force to bother hoisting sails around midnight.
With a combo of sailing when the pressure was there, and motoring when it wasn't, we eventually saw the inspirational cliffs off Lagos rise up before us in the early dawn.
Overall a great trip. Only broke two things on the way (could be a record). The port side lazy jacks (thin lines that catch the main sail when you drop it) got tangled with the sail when hoisting / dropping it, and as a result, it also put a small vertical rip in the head of the mainsail.
We were running almost dead downwind around Cabo de Gata about half way on our journey under sunny skies, but before big winds and seas. Surfing the largest swells at 12 knots, it seemed the combo of closing high cliffs and a guess a typical headland type pressure increase, saw our true wind speed jump suddenly from around 26 to above 48 knots.
Bad news really. Especially if like us, you’ve got a full main spread out above you!
But you may not be surprised to learn that Swagman handled it beautifully. After the initial big jolt of the added pressure hitting us, and the boat initially burying her bow, she rose to shake herself and took off in a welter of spray.
We must have reached some silly speeds with me still clenching hold, wide eyed and tight bottomed, to the wheel. Was too busy keeping her on her feet to even check out our max boat speed, but it was what I would call 'a good ride'! Sue begins singing 'Caravans' when we get these kinds of runs.
But somehow during the 15 minutes it continued, we did manage to tuck in a single reef, downhill. Wow! Change pants everyone!
Big thanks need to go to Mr Harken and his superb main track system allowing us to perform this trick (which is not possible on most yachts), but then having said this we did break one lazy jack line achieving it. And whilst we can still use the torn mainsail to complete the leg, it will need to be repaired pronto.
But that was the only drama experienced over the three nights it took to reach Lagos. Unless of course you’d bracket Dolphins with drama. We’ve been visited at least 6 times by pods of these animals, both large and smaller ones. Presumably coming to say goodbye? It's all lovely stuff.
It’s now 0800, dawn is just breaking. It’s definitely chilly. I’ve still got long pants on for the first time in months. We are only two hours away from motoring up the short ‘creek’ towards our home for the old Swagman at Marina de Lagos on the Portugese Algave. This region is where all those early Portuguese and Spanish explorers were taught to navigate before they went off to map the world.
The marina in Lagos is right alongside the town centre, and it's a super facility that we think all other marinas should be judged by. I'm certainly looking forward to their marble and glass showers, a cooked breakfast, and then some more sleep, before sorting out the plans for 5 days R&R and then the work on the boat.
Swagman gets lifted out on the 3rd September just down the creek at Sopromars yard. The list of what I want done is growing - but what with us wanting to fly back to the UK it gives them 3 weeks solid to fix whats needed - and hopefully see us fit and ready to head then for the Canaries and points further west.
This has certainly been one of those nice memorable sails. Glad I'm able to share it with you all via the blog.
Cheers
JOHN
