Swell, litres of wine and a couple of ragamuffins at large….

A month and 440 miles after we last wrote here we are again. We finally rounded the coast of Northern Spain and came into the Atlantic. Not only that but the pilot books are right, there is a definite change in the atmosphere as soon as you round Cape Finisterre. Sea calmer, sun shone and it was hot with a glorious smell of pine coming off the land. The dolphins joined us in force and enjoyed our stately progress toward the Rio Muros where we anchored.

 The trip along the North coast was strange. The ever present swell made light wind sailing a nightmare whilst the visibility was often poor because of mist or fog. It struck us as bizarre that on the day England recorded it highest temperature we were sat below with the fire on drying out the boat from the damp fog we had suffered for the last week or so….. See we told you it ain’t all a bed of roses, sometimes we really suffer.

 OK what’s been happening. Certainly fewer boats around as we got further along the coast, but we’ve started to see American and Kiwi yachts for the first time. As ever we are moving quite slowly and spent a few days in Santander, a week in St Vincent de la Barquera where we met a couple of other English yachts. One single hander who may be on his way back to Weymouth and a couple who have been there for 14 months. They’re probably still there as I write. Onto To Ribadasella where we spent several hours trying to find a mooring. Eventually persuaded a couple of French boats that we needed to come alongside. They suggested we moor inside of them but in the end we went alongside a battered wall that a local had indicated some 2 hours ago. As Bee says we only went there hoping to meet the local couple who featured in a PBO article about the town. They’d befriended a visiting boat and supplied them with lemons and showers. It was the latter we were angling for but nobody appeared. The following day 5 more English boats arrived and a small colony materialised. Moored alongside us was a cat, the owners of which became increasingly disturbed at the number of onlookers who stopped to chat about Hannah, even going so far as to wail plaintively “…but our boat is older……”  Perhaps the oddest moment was when a couple, early twenties, stopped and the guy, in Spanish, indicated he would like to take a photo and was that ok? No problem says I magnanimously and then watched dumbly as he climbed aboard, struck his best Errol Flynn pose whilst his girlfriend snapped away! Moved on after a day or so, big seas but enough wind to cope and roared on to Ribadeo. Got there at nightfall, poor anchorage but intended to move further into the Ria the following day. We tried but silting had reduced depths and on an ebbing tide we ran out of water. Luckily our momentum enabled us to keep going but we retreated and headed out to the next place along. Viveiro. Great anchorage, good chemist, who recommended something for my still aching teeth, and free showers. Unfortunately we didn’t discover them until we were about to leave so missed out. Did a load of jobs on the boat, engine oil etc and took Toots for her daily walk on the beach. Waited for the wind and left soon after a small German boat. Outside the Ria the wind had picked up and we spent an exhilarating sail with the genny goosewinged and boomed out, main on the opposite side and mizzen flying on the same side as the genny. Roaring along in big seas at 8 knots we left a number of yachts, including a big American, behind. We pulled into Cediero, one of the best anchorages we had found in Spain. Managed a swim before the nightly examination of the wine bottle and left the following day for Sade. Not worth the effort but the next anchorage was in El Ferrol and was brilliant. It loses a few points as the entrance is a military base and they are building a new breakwater. As we approached, without warning and with no boats buzzing around clearing an area around the rocks, Blaster Bates set several huge explosions off. Dust was everywhere and we moved forward more cautiously but found our spot and rejoiced. Very often the anchorages have been spoilt, for us of course not the local people, but here was one that seemed to have the quiet and tranquillity you associate with anchoring. Highly recommended.

The Good.....

Currently we’re in the Arosa having visited Lage, not keen and Muros, which again is excellent. Lots of nationalities at anchor, several of whom we had seen at other stops. On the way from Lage, again in lumpy seas and a wind that was rapidly picking up we had a slight mishap when, as we were trying to goosewing the genny we gybed. We had a preventer set but we still gybed as the mainsheet boom bail [ironwork on the end of the boom that holds one of the mainsheet blocks] snapped from the force. Luckily it fell on deck and we were able to get it welded in Muros. Manana the man said and Manana it was. Conscious that the cost could be anything I asked “How Much” before work commenced. Despite believing myself to be reasonable at understanding Spanish I managed to confuse 4 euros with 40 euros and so said it was too much and walked away. Checking the dictionary I realised what a pratt I’d been as £2.70 isn’t a bad price to get us sorted and went back cap in hand. This is the same lump that Bee ran into in Denmark and split her eyebrow open on so it has sentimental value as well as a real function for us.

Yesterdays trip was the pits as the ever present swell meant we had a day of motoring. As we had large scale charts we decided to opt for the inside channel and slalomed our way through visible and non visible rocks before sneaking through a narrow gap into the main Ria. Of course the swell was reduced and the wind fair so our last hour had us taking on all comers and seeing them off. So here we are, anchored outside Pueblo de Carminal where we discovered that not only do they have a fun fair on the beach but our old friend Blaster has migrated, cloned himself and, one either end of the beach, amuse themselves by letting off rockets. Actually they sound more like military thunder flashes but about 4 foot in length. The firer rests one end on the ground, lights the blue touch paper and nonchalantly holds onto the stick as the thing roars into action before bursting a couple of hundred feet up. Bizarre.

The Bad....

...and the pissed.