10 December 2002
Canarian landscape – bleakly rocky and volcanicWe heard the weather was going to deteriorate so we left Lanzarote and sailed south to the next island along, Fuerte Ventura, to the port of Rosario where we hoped to get good shelter. The tiny marina was full so we happily anchored in the harbour. Three days later the storm, forecast as Force 5 – 7 came howling in as a Force 10 and Rosario was not as well protected as we’d hoped. I must confess that weather forecasts baffled us for the entirety of our circumnavigation and most of the time we ignored them completely and suffered no more bad weather (perhaps less actually) than other boats. Some sailors followed them slavishly but only a few seemed really able to interpret them accurately.
However, most seemed to know what was going on that evening, because we saw other boats lifting anchor and moving into the marina, tying up two and three abreast. We thought about it but decided it was getting too full, so we figured we’d better try and brave it out. Bad mistake. As the night progressed so the wind got worse and the waves, having grown huge out at sea now rocketed into the shallow harbour, creating tumultuous conditions. Poor Forever bucked madly for hours in the violent waves until, horrifyingly, at two in the morning the anchor chain was ripped out and we lost it along with our main anchor! We had no choice now but to take refuge in the marina and we wished we’d done so hours earlier.
The next day, the storm began to abate, but the water was so churned up and muddy it was two days before Mike could attempt to look for his anchor. He spent two long tiring days, with the help of a very kind Danish sailor, Jan-Erik, sometimes diving and sometimes trawling the harbour in his dinghy with a small fisherman’s anchor until they retrieved it. Mike was very pleased as it would have been difficult to replace, not to mention very expensive.
Time was marching on so we left Rosario and sailed to our last port of call in the Canaries – Gran Canaria. We had originally planned to stop in a port called Mogan, on the recommendation of another yacht. However, it had been badly damaged by that same storm we had experienced, so badly that some yachts had been damaged, and they weren’t accepting any boats. So we checked into Puerto Rico instead, a port a little way south east which had also sustained damage, but less so. The island of Gran Canaria was heaving with tourists. Along the southern coast all we could see were hotels, apartment blocks and villas, swimming pools, golf courses, shopping malls, restaurants, bars and leisure centres – zillions of them. However, Puerto Rico itself was a fairly pleasant little port and the town was well laid out.
I had hoped we would bump into and befriend a few other yachts going over the ‘pond’ as Gran Canaria is the usual last port of call, but we met no one. Most of those going had already left, either alone or with the Atlantic Rally for Cruisers (ARC) which leaves from Las Palmas in the north east of Gran Canaria and makes landfall in St Lucia in the Caribbean. We had read about the ARC and it sounded like fun as there are over 200 yachts and they all get together for social events before and after the Rally. However, it was expensive to enter and your yacht had to comply with all sorts of safety requirements which we couldn’t afford. I can hear tongues clicking and see heads wagging when I say that, but that’s how we saw it. We had to prioritise - and felt that the joy of undertaking this journey far outweighed any small safety concerns. At the end of the day, life can be dangerous (most accidents occur at home, you know) and we figured that we had no more chance of mishap at sea, perhaps less, than we did living on land. Admittedly, help is never very far away on land whereas at sea ...... well.
The ARC had set sail at the end of November, which was rather early in the season in our opinion. Throughout our trip we followed the recommendations made by Jimmy Cornell in his excellent book ‘World Cruising Routes’, and he felt that December was a better month. That year the winds had not been ideal at the start of the Rally and in the rough conditions one sailor was knocked overboard and tragically died. He was apparently attached to the yacht by a safety harness, but his crew mate – and brother – had been unable to get him back on board quick enough to save him from drowning. (I stopped harassing Mike about the safety harness after that, though I never let up on nagging about calling me for sail changes.)
Another reason we weren’t interested in crossing with the ARC was that they make landfall at St Lucia which is half way up the Caribbean Windward Islands. The wind conditions in the area are such that it is easier to sail north rather than south, so if you arrived at St Lucia you would be unlikely to visit the more southerly islands. We liked the idea of starting at the bottom and working our way up all the islands. Secondly, we had heard that Trinidad was a very good spot to haul the yacht out of the water, and Mike had a lot of work he wanted to do. Thirdly, we’d also heard that Trinidad was a good place to get a visa for the United States - British passports needed one in those days. So, Trinidad and Tobago was our destination.
We had a quiet roast duck Christmas dinner, just the two of us, on Forever. My sister Pairose in England had posted us some Christmas gifts, as well as a whole pile of Mike’s precious cds and I had to make a couple of long winded but interesting trips by bus along the coast to Mogan to collect our post, and it was worth it. We sent emails to friends and family and telephoned Melanie and Pairose. By now I was feeling devilishly casual about deadlines and was considerably less neurotic about our arrival date. We knew we would take around 25 days, probably longer, so I told Pairose not to worry until at least two months went by without word before she had to start hounding the authorities. Poor thing, we gave her a lot of needless worry.
However, most seemed to know what was going on that evening, because we saw other boats lifting anchor and moving into the marina, tying up two and three abreast. We thought about it but decided it was getting too full, so we figured we’d better try and brave it out. Bad mistake. As the night progressed so the wind got worse and the waves, having grown huge out at sea now rocketed into the shallow harbour, creating tumultuous conditions. Poor Forever bucked madly for hours in the violent waves until, horrifyingly, at two in the morning the anchor chain was ripped out and we lost it along with our main anchor! We had no choice now but to take refuge in the marina and we wished we’d done so hours earlier.
The next day, the storm began to abate, but the water was so churned up and muddy it was two days before Mike could attempt to look for his anchor. He spent two long tiring days, with the help of a very kind Danish sailor, Jan-Erik, sometimes diving and sometimes trawling the harbour in his dinghy with a small fisherman’s anchor until they retrieved it. Mike was very pleased as it would have been difficult to replace, not to mention very expensive.
Time was marching on so we left Rosario and sailed to our last port of call in the Canaries – Gran Canaria. We had originally planned to stop in a port called Mogan, on the recommendation of another yacht. However, it had been badly damaged by that same storm we had experienced, so badly that some yachts had been damaged, and they weren’t accepting any boats. So we checked into Puerto Rico instead, a port a little way south east which had also sustained damage, but less so. The island of Gran Canaria was heaving with tourists. Along the southern coast all we could see were hotels, apartment blocks and villas, swimming pools, golf courses, shopping malls, restaurants, bars and leisure centres – zillions of them. However, Puerto Rico itself was a fairly pleasant little port and the town was well laid out.
I had hoped we would bump into and befriend a few other yachts going over the ‘pond’ as Gran Canaria is the usual last port of call, but we met no one. Most of those going had already left, either alone or with the Atlantic Rally for Cruisers (ARC) which leaves from Las Palmas in the north east of Gran Canaria and makes landfall in St Lucia in the Caribbean. We had read about the ARC and it sounded like fun as there are over 200 yachts and they all get together for social events before and after the Rally. However, it was expensive to enter and your yacht had to comply with all sorts of safety requirements which we couldn’t afford. I can hear tongues clicking and see heads wagging when I say that, but that’s how we saw it. We had to prioritise - and felt that the joy of undertaking this journey far outweighed any small safety concerns. At the end of the day, life can be dangerous (most accidents occur at home, you know) and we figured that we had no more chance of mishap at sea, perhaps less, than we did living on land. Admittedly, help is never very far away on land whereas at sea ...... well.
The ARC had set sail at the end of November, which was rather early in the season in our opinion. Throughout our trip we followed the recommendations made by Jimmy Cornell in his excellent book ‘World Cruising Routes’, and he felt that December was a better month. That year the winds had not been ideal at the start of the Rally and in the rough conditions one sailor was knocked overboard and tragically died. He was apparently attached to the yacht by a safety harness, but his crew mate – and brother – had been unable to get him back on board quick enough to save him from drowning. (I stopped harassing Mike about the safety harness after that, though I never let up on nagging about calling me for sail changes.)
Another reason we weren’t interested in crossing with the ARC was that they make landfall at St Lucia which is half way up the Caribbean Windward Islands. The wind conditions in the area are such that it is easier to sail north rather than south, so if you arrived at St Lucia you would be unlikely to visit the more southerly islands. We liked the idea of starting at the bottom and working our way up all the islands. Secondly, we had heard that Trinidad was a very good spot to haul the yacht out of the water, and Mike had a lot of work he wanted to do. Thirdly, we’d also heard that Trinidad was a good place to get a visa for the United States - British passports needed one in those days. So, Trinidad and Tobago was our destination.
We had a quiet roast duck Christmas dinner, just the two of us, on Forever. My sister Pairose in England had posted us some Christmas gifts, as well as a whole pile of Mike’s precious cds and I had to make a couple of long winded but interesting trips by bus along the coast to Mogan to collect our post, and it was worth it. We sent emails to friends and family and telephoned Melanie and Pairose. By now I was feeling devilishly casual about deadlines and was considerably less neurotic about our arrival date. We knew we would take around 25 days, probably longer, so I told Pairose not to worry until at least two months went by without word before she had to start hounding the authorities. Poor thing, we gave her a lot of needless worry.
Last ice creamAbout three days before our departure, sitting in an internet cafe in town, Mike had a sudden ‘bad moment’. He sat immobile for a couple of minutes, just staring blankly, and refused to respond to anything I said. Finally, he came out of it slowly and told me he thought he was having a stroke! I wanted him to see a doctor immediately, but he refused of course. The bad feeling passed and he was now determined to ignore it. I am informed, by well meaning friends, that I can be an enormous bully at times, but in spite of that I was unable to coerce Mike into seeing a doctor that day, so I had to go to sea on a 3000 mile journey with a man who appeared on the brink of another stroke. Nice. I took a leaf from his book and put it out of my mind.
We had now travelled a further 1080 nautical miles since leaving Gibraltar, bringing our total sailing miles to 4183 and adding just one further country, Portugal. Here’s the map.
We had now travelled a further 1080 nautical miles since leaving Gibraltar, bringing our total sailing miles to 4183 and adding just one further country, Portugal. Here’s the map.
On the 30th of December 2002 we did our last big food shopping, cleared the boat out of the Canaries, filled up with fuel and water and set off into the deep blue yonder on the third and final leg of our Great Atlantic Crossing.
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