Our Adventures on Ocean Blue

Our landfall in the Canary Islands was the tiny island of Graciosa, just 6.5 km by 3 km. Despite its small size it has 4 volcanic cones, almost as many cones as there are residents (not quite true, but its very quiet).

Graciosa lies just a mile or so north of Lanzarote, separated by a narrow stretch of water called the Estrecho del Rio, rumoured to be a route favoured by migrating pilot whales. Alas, we didn’t see any but the site of the 500m high almost vertical cliffs of Lanzarote on one side and the pretty island of Graciosa on the other was a site to behold. The harbour is a little small for our boat and we had already heard on the radio that it was full so we bypassed it and dropped anchor in the neighbouring bay. A total novelty to be able to see the anchor and chain on the sea bed in crystal clear turquoise water; a far cry from the muddy waters of the Solent!

Much of the island is protected by a marine reserve and we had applied for permission to anchor in the bay of Playa Francesca, the designated reserve bay but that looked very busy and the bay closest to the harbour was empty so we had it to ourselves. Later we discovered the reason – since our guide book was published, they had prohibited anchoring in the one we were in, so we upped anchor and joined the busy throng in the bay of Playa Francesca.

Ashore we took a walk into the island between the cones – there is no tarmac just a few dirt tracks and roads.

It was fascinating to explore and quite remarkable to see the lava dust covered in tiny white shells, not only on the shore line but up on the volcanic cones too. Apart from a few fenced off areas of vegetation, and some low lying plants Graciosa has little to spoil the natural look once you are outside the small settlements.

Back at the harbour we were surprised to find a small but well stocked supermarket, so we bought a few bits and pieces before returning to the boat.

At first light we left for the 205 NM trip to Agadir. This was seeing a familiar pattern by now, with preparation of a suitable meal for on passage and 3 hour watches during the hours of darkness. The saloon berth which we fitted a lee cloth to (a cloth side to stop you falling out as the boat rocks on the waves) was working well, allowing for off watch rest whilst still being available easily if needed for sail adjustment or support when avoiding the fishing fleets from Sadie. Fishing fleets have been a bit of a pain at times as we have travelled down the coasts of Spain and Portugal, but this particular fleet was a serious challenge. Whereas the European fleets have fairly consistent lights, this Moroccan fleet consisted of over 50 boats some with no lights, some with torches, some strobes and the occasional large one with normal navigation lights. With it being pitch black and foggy the radar was showing a multitude of possible targets and no apparent way of getting around them. We got through it without coming too close to any after a couple of hours and then the fog cleared a little bit and the moon came out so all was a little more peaceful.

Arrival at Agadir was very different, we were waved into a berth by the friendly marina berthing staff. Stern to mooring on a finger pontoon, a little short for us but ok, we braced the boat to ride the gentle swell that wrapped around the entrance. Electricity, wifi (at the top of the pontoon) and water meant we could spend a happy few days researching and catching up with friends and family and washing and tidying up the boat after her 800 or so miles since Porto.

Marina Agadir felt like Port Solent with a Moroccan twist and we celebrated our first rental income from the house reaching our bank account by having a fabulous meal out ashore at a restaurant called Pure Passion.

We had heard that their was a large supermarket and a good Souk (covered market) so we took the opportunity to get the bikes out and cycle to them . We filled our bags at the Souk with fruit and veg then continued to the supermarket and proceeded to do a mammoth shop which by necessity meant a taxi for our shopping, bikes and us for the trip back to the marina! At 30 Dirrams (£3) it was a bargain and we had food again.

We aimed to leave in the evening so arranged to check out and get fuel. Having been told by the marina staff that the fuel berth closed at 6. We arrived at 5 to find it closed… Apparently it was a fairly regular occurrence we were told by a local who had the operators number on his mobile phone. He tried in vain to get him to return but it was clear that unless we paid him 450 Dirrams (£45) he would not return! Our choice was to leave without fuel or stay another night and leave early the next morning. On balance we decided to stay. We arrived again at the fuel berth at 8am (the time we had been told it would open) to find it still closed. After a leisurely breakfast and boat prep we managed the task and left an hour and a half later than scheduled. Frustrating being given the wrong information however it was a good decision to stay for the refuel as Ocean Blue seems to have turned into a motor boat again for this trip.

Agadir has a fantastic opportunity to become a popular destination for the European boats heading South to the Canaries and a real alternative to the typical routes, but unfortunately the fuelling situation and the way it was handled by the marina staff left a rather bad taste in our mouths. Whilst their view was that the fuel berth was nothing to do with the marina, they might be correct, but from a visitor’s perspective, its in the marina and and if the marina staff say its open at a certain time, then is it really too much to ask for it to be open? When asked to register the issue with the harbour authorities, all the staff were interested in doing was securing another night’s berthing fees, although a compromise was begrudgingly reached. Thankfully the police were far more obliging having gone through the checkout procedure for the previous evening and ending up staying another day.

So this ended our visit to Morocco. A fantastic adventure, great places and despite a few inevitable frustrations, a country we can thoroughly recommend to fellow sailors.

Once clear of the Moroccan coast leaving the fishing boats and floating rubbish behind, the open sea was a welcome change from harbour.

A shower and hair wash followed by blow drying in the warm wind with a cup of tea made us feel refreshed and relaxed.

Seven hours out we saw a small whale on the surface, Lesley’s first time seeing the blow of water. Several dolphins joined us briefly, the smooth expanse of sea making it breathtaking to watch them jumping through the swell towards us from some distance off.

Another 24 hours and we would be in the Canary Islands…

We left Mohammedia early before dawn. As dawn broke we still couldn’t see much as there was a heavy mist with visibility less than half a mile. As we approach Casablanca there was a city of cargo ships at anchor which we could see on the AIS and then loomed into view as we got nearer to each one.

The Hassan II mosque, the tallest religious buildiung in the world, and the most westerly of the muslim world appeared to float in the clouds as we passed it.

We still had no wind and saw very little of note until we arrived at El Jadida at 15.50 as the fishing fleet was departing for their evenings work. We entered the tiny harbour and jostled with the steady stream of fishing boats that were leaving. There appeared to be only room for one boat to anchor inside the harbour walls without causing chaos, below the remains of the Portuguese walled fort in a deep water pool.

We had read that you had to go to the ‘Yacht Club to check in, and before we had a chance to do so there was loud whistling and gesticulation from a figure on the wall. We launched the dinghy and took the documents to the shore where the gesticulating man was very welcoming and took me through the locked yacht club premises, carefully re locking the gate to the harbour office where his part of the process was performed. He finished by giving me directions to immigration and the police to perform their duties and giving me a key for the duration of our stay to re-enter the yacht club! The walk to the immigration (or anywhere else outside the yacht club) involved a tour around three sides of the fishermen’s inner harbour, where nets were being repaired and loaded with fish heads in preparation for the night’s fishing.

Once again there were small barbeques cooking what looked like sardines all over the place, feeding the hungry fishermen. To say the area had an odour of fish was an understatement, but the many cats of all shapes and sizes seemed to love it!

The following day we explored the town. Just to the west oif the harbour the old Portugese walled town was fascinating. Apparently it used to be surrounded by a moat, but this has since been filled in, but the battlements still remain complete with many cannons. Central to the walled town is the cistern – a huge underground ‘room’, with a hole in the centre of the ceiling. In days gone by this became filled with rain water and provided a source of water for the rest of the town.

From the top of the wall, you could look down onto the boatyard, where fishing boats were being repaired after being hauled out of the water up tracks, and new boats were being built – all with hand tools and small antique power tools.

To the East of the harbour is the contrasting of beach resort; Western style cafes and hotels along a wide expanse of parkland footpaths. After a stroll along the foggy beach front we settled into one of the cafes for a nice French Moroccan style breakfast.

We headed inland a few blocks and found downtown El Jadida where the locals shop and bought fresh veg and fruit to top up our fridge but passed on the meat being sold by the street butchers!

The guide books had said it was nice to support the small restaurant on top of the yacht club so in the evening we went ashore. Slightly bizarrely although its situated on the first floor of the yacht club there was no way in without leaving through the locked gate (for which we had a key), walking around the fishing harbour, out to the main town then along the main road and back down a dark grit road to the bottom of a staircase no more than a metre from where we started!

On leaving, we were very tempted to climb the fence to save the 3/4 mile walk and asked permission. The response from the waiter was to shout for ‘Rashid’ the gatekeeper mentioned in the guide book, who duly arrived some the shadows with a whole wad of keys and duly opened the gate, and the gate to the pontoon, which avoided teetering along the dockside outside the railings, which we had had to do every time we went ashore until then. All in all a strange experience but enjoyable none the less.

We returned to the boat and settled in for our last night there since we were leaving for Agadir the next day.

Casablanca, meaning White House, was renamed by the Portuguese in the 16th Century.

The security of the harbour at Mohammedia meant that we could happily leave the boat and take a trip into Casablanca. The railway station is a short taxi ride from the harbour and the high speed train took 30 minutes for the two stops to get there.
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The “petit taxi” is basically a small car, fiat, or similar; all with coordinated distinguishing colours; light green in Mohammedia and red in Casablanca. They clearly do not have an MOT system as they would be condemned in the uk. Our driver apologised enthusiastically in French, stopping to re slam the door, locking it so that it didn’t spring open!

The train was efficient and running to timetable which is a change from my experience in recent weeks on south east rail in England. Crossing the tracks on foot to reach the exit was a novelty.

We headed for the medina, the old walled town, to explore the markets. We happily wondered around the intricate and haphazard streets until we decided that we had seen the same resturant before and had gone in a series of small circles! Oh well, we decided to have lunch and try again to find the food section, a bit like exploring an unfamiliar hypermarket trying to find the one item you just popped in for!

After several attempts at asking directions in our poor French we found the wonderful stalls with spices, bread, fruit and vegetables.

Our senses were on overload especially in the meat section when I found myself standing next to the head of an animal with it’s enormous tongue hanging out.

There were also sections for fabrics and upholstery, engineering and repairs as well as clothes and the usual tourist souvenirs. We eventually emerged near the Hassan II Mosque which is reputably one of the largest in the world .

A fascinating day trip and a dip into the Moroccan culture and history.

The vast majority of cruisers heading for the Canaries either go via Madeira or directly from Portugal. We had heard good things about Morocco and because it was somewhere we had never been we decided to give it a try. We were not expecting European 5 star marinas or cute sandy bays, but actually we were pleasantly surprised by some places.

Mohammedia was always going to be a small busy fishing harbour with limited space or facilities for yachts, but that’s fine – that’s the type of Morocco we wanted to see – just normal hard working Moroccans going about their everyday business as normal. As well as a fishing harbour Mohammedia is an oil transfer port – we arrived on a Sunday and there were queues of tankers parked up waiting to enter the port all along the roads.

We didn’t know what to expect with regard to the officialdom – customs, immigration and police but whilst a little more time consuming and labour intensive (mostly all recorded in duplicate or triplicate in hand written ledgers), it was an easy hassle free process.

When we arrived it was spring tides and the yacht pontoon was small and relatively shallow, so after spending one night there and touching the bottom at low water we headed out to the bay the next day.

The bay was very pleasant and peaceful. We were the only boat in it and could watch the locals enjoying the beach in the evenings. Fishing is obviously not only a commercial activity here – many fisherman were casting off the beach late into the night and some were still there in the morning. We could dinghy ashore and it was only a short walk into town, passing local barbecue stands cooking up all types of fish for both locals and visitors alike, eaten on rickety tables directly on the pavement!

The most intriguing fishing we saw was from a couple of young guys, one perched on an inflated inner tube paying out net and another swimming pulling the tube in a large  probably 200m wide circle starting and ending on the beach. Eventually they gathered the net in and collected their catch!

The bay was safe to leave the boat so we took the train to Casablanca for a day then left the next day for a trip down the coast to El Jadida. Mohammedia had been a fantastic introduction to Morocco, albeit one that left crude oil stains down the tubes of the dinghy and memories of a harbour littered with loads of rubbish floating everywhere.

We finished our 2 week holiday in Povoa, securely tied up the boat and flew home for just over a month. Povoa, like many Portugese marinas can get wild in the winter storms and it is apparently a rule that the boats have to be out of the water by the end of September. Whats more the marina entrance can be closed for weeks at a time as the Atlantic swell can make the entrance too dangerous.

It was with great relief that as the day we were returning approached, the forecast was for little swell and no wind. The weather gods were kind to us and the autumn storms had held off until after our return date the 3rd October.

All credit to the marina and the staff, they looked after the boat for us and the prices put the UK to shame.

My brother in law Pete flew out with me to help me take the boat down to Porto, where we had planned on hauling her out for an inspection, a polish and a little tlc prior to heading to the Canaries for the start of the ARC. We flew in, thanked the staff, untied the boat and left on the 15 mile trip to Duoro Marina in Porto

Heading back to the boat for two weeks in August gave us the opportunity to head south. We hadn’t initially planned on leaving the boat further south after the holiday, but having thought about it briefly and researched the options, Lesley’s comment of ‘why are we heading back to La Coruna at the end of the holiday? made sense. It gave us much more time to explore the Rias and meant we wouldn’t have to hack back against the Portugese trades.

When heading south from La Coruna we knew that the first sail was going to be one of the longer ones between the Rias. We left early morning and followed the coast for several hours towards the Illas Sisargas. Reading the guide books, most suggest passing to seaward but also show an anchorage between the islands which looked pretty perfect for a lunch stop. A quick look on the chart plotter showed nothing scary if we went to the South of them and the AIS tracks showed a few other yachts heading inside. I guess the guide books were written before chart plotters were widely used and the swell was minimal and the wind light.

We dropped anchor in the small sheltered bay for a delightful lunch and an hour or so of peace and quiet in lovely remote surroundings. After lunch we up anchored and headed off south west. Not many people have too much good to say about the first realistic overnight stopping place – Corme, and since we didn’t want to spend every day at sea, we bypassed that and headed straight for Camarinas. Arriving late afternoon, we had a peaceful evening anchored off the beach.

The next morning out came the kneeboard and we enjoyed a few hours kneeboarding in the flat sheltered waters of this delightful Ria. We took the dinghy ashore in the afternoon and took a walk into the pretty town where we enjoyed a little local hospitality in the form of a drink an ice cream in the sun.

We left Camarinas the next day to head south and round the notorious Cape Finistere. With a fearsome reputation we were glad that the forecast was for benign conditions and thats what we got. Virtually flat calm, little wind and sunshine. Rounding the Cape we had the option of heading North into the Ria tucked up inside the Cape, or keeping going a little further to Muros. We opted for the latter and by lunchtime we were at anchor sunbathing in the warm sheltered Ria trying to figure out what the row of men were doing up to their shoulders in the water off the beach with big sticks.

By mid afternoon Charlotte and Derek were itching to get the kneeboard out again so went off to explore the Ria in the rib and on the board. With a large expanse of mussel beds just behind the boat creating a virtual ‘track’ for the board a good time was had lapping the beds at high speed.

Lesley meanwhile enjoyed the peace and tranquility of not having two energetic ‘children’ to amuse for a short while and took the opportunity to read her book!

Next stop was the Ria de Arosa. With so many options to explore in each Ria and not a huge amount of time, we relied on the pilot book to pick the anchorage. The book said “If you only visit one anchorage in the Ria, make it Illa de Arosa”. We did and it was immediately apparent that the author is looking for something slightly different than us! Whilst there was nothing wrong with it, it could not be classed as pretty, although going ashore the fishing village was very quaint and pleasant. However we decided to move somewhere different within the Ria for the day. We headed to the beach at Ribiera where the long sandy beach provided a beautiful backdrop to the anchorage. Here we decided to try out part of our almost finished ‘Series Drogue’ by towing it behind the dinghy. It passed with flying colours, rendering the 15 hp outboard virtually useless against the drag of the cones.

After a peaceful night we headed south to the next Ria – Ria de Pentevedra. The claimm to fsame for this Ria is that it produces something like 18% of the world’s mussels. With mussel beds everywhere it still remained a beautiful setting. On the basis that we needed to drop Charlotte at the airport the next day and we had a hire car booked from Pontevedra town, we worked our way as close to the town as we could sensibly find to anchor and dropped the hook off the little village of Combarro – about a 2 mile dinghy ride from the centre of Pontevedro.

The plan was simple: All three of us would take the dinghy to Pontevedro, Derek would jump out, pick up the hire car and drive it back to Combarro and park it up there overnight whilst the girls would take the dinghy back and collect Derek from Combarro, so that the next morning it was just a very short hop in the dinghy for the early start to the airport.

Unfortunately all the best plans are prone to falling apart and this was to be one that fell apart in epic proportions. Firstly on launching the dinghy we realised we didn’t have sufficient fuel to get tom Pontevedra and back. No problem, a quick Google maps search showed there were a few petrol stations close to the river so we could take the can and refill it. The wind also picked up a bit meaning the journey in the dinghy was a little choppier and wetter than envisaged and the girls began to get a bit nervous as to whether they would be ok alone against the wind and chop on their own. Having located a petrol station which was also a relatively convenient spot to drop Derek off, the girls were rewarded with ice creams and chocolates and sent on their way back whilst Derek set off to find the car hire company. On arrival he was met by a very confused lady who explained that she had no car despite the booking, which it transpired was for the previous day!

Unfortunately with no other cars available in the town and the girls on their way back to the boat, after a few web searches, it appeared the only option was to hire a car from Vigo airport, 40 minutes away by taxi! A booking was secured just as Derek’s phone went flat but unfortunately being though a third party, until the confirmation email came through there would be no instructions on where or how to collect the car at the airport!

Arriving at the airport it was pot luck as to which company to try first with a completely flat phone and no confirmation of car hire! Luckily the man behind the first desk had a phone charger and so Derek was able to charge the phone and check the emails, only to discover that the booking had been rejected!

Thankfully another car was sourced and a message sent to the girls to say ‘Problem with booking, currently in Vigo airport, will contact you when I get back in a few hours so you can collect me’

Having secured the keys and a map, things were looking up right up to the point of arrival into Combarro, where it transpired we had picked one of three days of the year when the entire town centre and water front is closed to traffic for an annual festival! The car was unceremoniously ‘dumped’ at the roadside and the girls were called and we were all reunited!

The next day, things went a little more smoothly – the car was still where it was dumped, we got to the airport on time and Charlotte caught her flight home. We then had to return the car to Vigo airport and find our way back to Combarro. We took the opportunity to visit Vigo city, since all the buses from the airport went via the city centre, so we had a delightful walk up to the old castle on the hill that overlooks the city. Another train and a bus and we were back in Combarro and then back on board – a long two days!

Time to move on and we set sail the next morning for the short trip into the Ria De Aldan. A small Ria on the southern entrance to Ria Pontevedra.

There are warnings that if the wind goes northerly it gets choppy and uncomfortable, so when that duly happened in the late afternoon, we decided to up sticks and head into Ria De Vigo.

For such a short trip it was quite eventful. The 25 knot breeze had whipped up quite a sea and having not prepared the boat for anything other than a short 20 minute motor in flat seas when the first wave hit, it came through the open hatches, soaking whatever was in its path and causing Lesley to have a complete sense of humour failure. Having been promised a roast dinner (since it was a Sunday) and having already put the veg in the oven, to be subjected to 45 minutes of total wet wild turbulence, wet cabins, burnt veg, and a stomach that had no desire to eat anything, the promised roast lamb and three veg evening treat was doomed. At least we had found a very nice sheltered spot to drop anchor and mop out the boat.

It wasn’t until the next morning when we were leaving to go via the much talked about islands Islas Cies that we learned the full story of our anchorage. As we sipped our morning tea admiring the bay from a little way off there was something different about the early morning beach goers – the way they were purposefully strutting down the beach was different to most beaches and it was only when we grabbed the binoculars we finally identified why – we had picked the local nudist beach to anchor off! Back to the Islas Cies: Unfortunately when we did a little research, we learned that you have to get a permit to visit the islands to restrict tourist numbers and we didn’t have time to do so, so officially we could not go there. Unofficially it appeared that many boat owners do go there and are not hassled. As we closed on the islands in the early morning, we saw no reason not to take a quick detour, so like may others we did, and they really were stunning, A picturesque anchorage and great views from the higher levels. We decided not to push our luck too much so moved on and dropped anchor in Baiona, a well frequented bay which marks the southern extents of these Rias and for us the end of our time in Spain.

We took the opportunity to refuel, took a walk through the town and prepared to head south to Portugal the next morning.