Racing to Lanzarote

25 October

82 miles to go to Lanzarote and we need to slow down, so we don’t arrive in the dark.

But in truth, there are three other sailboats within sight, as we all converge on the Canaries, and Annie is on the helm. Annie: Olympian; champion; America’s Cup contender. So it’s a race. We put up the big white Code Zero – “Beluga” and pull a mile ahead of Hakuna Matata II to our stern; and start to reel in the Mystery Boat on the bow (they have no AIS beacon), ignoring Archipelago to starboard, as they are motoring.

The wind shifts: Beluga down, Stella up. Wind too far forward. Stella down, Beluga up.

Annie is timing us on the sail changes. TIMING US. Even though our current VMG will get us to the anchorage near midnight. All the while they are comparing notes on sail performance and polars, best wind angles and speeds for each sail, getting to know them.

The wind lightens up. Reluctantly – after hand steering the boat about four hours – she surrenders the helm to Otto (autohelm) and we douse the headsails, and crank on the iron genny. Game over, Annie heads off to the shower and a nap.

It is some of our only ‘excitement’ for the day, but that’s just fine. All systems are running smoothly, everyone is feeling good, and we’re in great spirits. Eric has been busy replacing the lifelines with hand-spliced “dynema” lines. While Annie raced the unsuspecting competitors, I cooked the remainder of the dorado - making fish tacos with the mish mash of stows onboard. It’s my creative outlet: making meals that get ‘oohs and ahhs’  - particularly as we try to eat first the foods that are about to ‘go off.’ It’s sort of like my own version of Iron Chef ;-/

When pigs fly

23 Oct 0100

 

A sail change kills an hour, most welcome at 1am.

EL GATO has some new sail inventory, so we experiment with our debutants, to determine the optimal conditions, angles and speed. “Stella” (every sail has a name, and this one – a sunflower yellow asymmetrical kite with a white star in the middle) has been floundering as the breeze has gone right, forcing us to head further west than desired. Annie and I get her down – this involves locating and running all the proper lines, in the pitch dark, making sure nothing’s foul, all while clipped onto jacklines that run across the boat aft, and up to the bow. Annie goes up to the bow, I alternately watch the sail, and the glow of her red headlamp, to make sure she’s still onboard. We snuff Stella, ease her down onto the deck, and jibe the main – all very measured and controlled; then determine we can unfurl “Gordo” (the fat Genoa) on this board, and commence that process.

Unlike racing, where everything is rushed (and you have a larger crew) every action is measured and cautious. Then we assess vmg, and settle in.

It’s odd what you can do in the middle of the night. Annie’s not sleepy yet, so she reads a book – ADRIFT – taking a break from the various manuals and tutorials. I clean up the dinner dishes, popping out on deck every 10 minutes to check the sails and traffic. One lone container ship passes astern 3nm; there’s a great deal more traffic going in and out of Casablanca, but we’re well outside of the shipping lanes so that’s moot.

 

23 Oct 645pm

Finally I slept a sweet peaceful slumber, not the fitful sleep of crazy boat dreams. I snuggled up across my bunk, leaned on my mountain of pillows and read, then closed my eyes, listening to gentle music. The motion of the boat was so calm, it felt like we were at the dock. The sky dull, making my otherwise bright cabin dark enough - I took a long lazy nap, until 530, when I roused to get ready for watch.

The sky is whitewashed gray, the water flat. It is sprinkling. Annie is making oatmeal cookies. I’m on deck til 9, but will find time to make some dinner in that time.

We have been following a pretty simple watch of three hours on, six hours off. With just three of us, it works well – no-one get stuck with the same watch. When Lewie joins us in the Canaries, we’ll mix it up.

I’ve done several watch schedules – 2 on at night, 3 at dusk and dawn, 4 during the day. 2 at night, 6 during the day. Or a straight 2 on, 2 off. And so on. Even so, we have tried to coordinate meals so we have at least one common (hot) meal ... today we decided to try to make lunch our ‘big’ meal of the day, and we did: we had curried chicken with rice and veggies. But then we had happy hour snacks ... and made pizzas for our dinner ... and Annie made cookies ... FAIL! We have all eaten tons of food – it seems a common theme on boats – which is good, I suppose. It means the sh*t isn’t hitting the fan. Sometimes you just need to eat, and sleep, in preparation for those times when eating (urp!) and sleeping (chaos) is impossible. But so far, that’s not our issue. We are just pigs!

 

Oct 22 "Non plus ultra"

22 October         

"Non plus ultra"

At 630pm El Gato entered the Atlantic Ocean, for the first time in her existence. Previously owned by Italians, she had been a Mediterranean girl all her (known) life. And now, abreast the fabled city of Tarifa, she poked her bows into the Atlantic. Although it kept pushing her back with a strong current, forcing us close to the green, pastoral coast of Spain, with its rugged bastions and alabaster estancias; dodging the smaller fishing boats to starboard, while a cavalcade of ships converged, to port.

The wind, as opposed to the forecast light easterly, was on the nose; the seas choppy. When I finally took a nap I was mostly airborne and the waves smacked angrily against the hull. As if that wasn’t enough, shipping traffic at this confluence of commerce and culture was bedlam. The AIS chimed incessantly, we had to turn it off. We cruised under headsail and main but kept our engines running for maneuverability. Ships were coming and going from all points, squeezing toward the shipping lanes, and for several hours it was a corridor of hell.

In fact, for centuries charts indicated here ‘non plus ultra’ (nothing further beyond): a warning to mariners to go no further. Plato referred to it as the edge of the unknown. This was where Hercules, intended to cross a mountain, instead smashed it in two, hence the Pillars of Hercules – Gibraltar, on the north and Monte Hacho* on the African continent to our south – opening the Mediterranean Sea to the Ocean of Atlas. (*although some lore says it's Morocco's Jebel Musa)

The significance of Tarifa

Gibraltar had fallen astern, and a plume of clouds trailed off Monte Hacho, as we approached Tarifa.

Many years ago – 17, in fact – Susan Colby had bid me up to San Francisco to interview at Quokka Sports. “Get your ass up here, they’re hiring writers and paying real money,” she urged.

One evening another interviewee, Neil Stebbins, Susan and I went to the massive bookstore near the hotel, to muse among the literature (that’s the sort of thing writers do for fun). Neil and I decided to select something from the enormous inventory, for the other to buy. We looked at volumes of books and listened to scores of cds. I can’t remember who chose what, but one of us selected an exotic album “Radio Tarifa” and by some quirk, the other chose the book “The Alchemist” – part of which is set in Tarifa. Although I never knew where Tarifa was, the coincidence was ominous, and to me it has remained a mystical place. And last night, there I was: off Tarifa. We sailed close, and even tucked in to the lee of the ancient fortress to raise our main. The lighthouse flashed repeatedly astern, late into the dark morning, bidding us adieu.

There were other portents on our trip as well. A brilliant rainbow burst from the powder puff clouds over Sierra de Cabrito. And a small bird flew into the main salon, fluttered around, and flew out ... but kept us company some of the way. Little love notes from God ;)

Currently we are motorsailing in very light breeze, beneath hazy skies, some 60nm off the coast near Casablanca.

Lanzarote - eternal springtime

 

Lanzarote - eternal springtime

 

Is Betsy There Yet?

Is Betsy There Yet?

From the look of this at 18:12 Pacific time today, they appear to be cruising down the eastern coast of Lanzarote heading to Arrecife.

Check it out live at http://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/ElGato

Note from Betsy...

Text posted for Betsy

23october 2045. 

60 nm off the coast of Morocco  . We are 3 days at sea having left Gibraltar on a sunny Wednesday afternoon, passing through the pillars of Hercules ( Gibraltar and Monte Hacho  in no. Africa) an area Plato referred to as 'the edge of the unknown' -  entering the Atlantic at the fabled city of Tarifa. Our departure was memorable -wind on the nose, churning current, absolute bedlam with ships converging on the strait from every conceivable direction. But that is all behind us - we are mostly motor sailing in light breeze, and it has just begun to rain. All is well aboard ElGato - we are heading to Lanzarote first DTF just 300nm. Love to all.
Check our track at http://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/ElGato

Where is Betsy Today?

Looks like slow going for Betsy and El Gato!

You can see the tracking here

Where is Betsy today?

Keeping track of Betsy! 

See El Gato's progress here http://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/ElGato

but before we go ...

Ready ... set ... go!

OCT 20

Another day, bustling from dawn ‘til dusk with activity. Although here in Gibraltar, dawn comes late: the sun doesn’t rise until 8:30 am ... and our days extend well past dusk. We are up to our eyebrows in chores, getting ready for the passage to the Canaries (4 ½ days) and Cape Verde (5-6 days) and ultimately El Gato’s 2-week voyage to St Lucia. It’s fairly overwhelming – however we are ticking off tasks.

But today, as the rain FINALLY stopped and clouds FINALLY cleared, we decided to drop our chores and bolt for Gibraltar, and the cable car ride to the top of The Rock, where the monkeys live.

The bus system failed us, so we walked to the cable car station – with an hour or so to spare before it closed. We took the tram up and were deposited in the rubble and ruins of the old fortress, where the Barbary Macaques live. They are fairly friendly – we were warned they will steal hats, sunglasses, and anything plastic-wrapped (which they associate with food) – but I, having had dodgy monkey experiences in South Africa, kept my distance. Instead, I awed at the mystery of the strait of Gibraltar spread before us. The high, snow-covered (already!) mountains of Spain to the east; the lure of Africa to the south; the stretch of Atlantic to the west ...

 

OCT 21 2pm – leaving within the hour!

 

Monsoon season in Gibraltar

10-20-15
It is monsoon season in Gibraltar, raining three solid days now,
sequestering us aboard El Gato in Marina Alcaidesa on the Spanish
side.
Our first day here, during a respite in the rain (or what we thought
was a respite), we walked to the border and over to Gibraltar –
crossing the LIVE runway of the airport that lies between us and The
Rock. No-one even asked to see our passports as we entered this small
British enclave – greeted by a typical red phone booth, flowers, and
finally signs in a familiar language.
The area is steeped in history: at the bottom of Europe, across the
strait from Africa, at the cusp of the Atlantic and the 'New World.'
We wandered the streets (thankfully most shops were closed, being
Sunday, or Annie and I probably would have bought everything in sight)
until another downpour began, and we popped into a pub for Pimms, (us
girls) and a Crabbys Ginger Beer for Eric; who added a shot of rum to
make a Dark and Stormy, which the bartender had never heard of. But
he encouraged us to take the bus to Punta Europa, and so we scurried
out before the next squall.
From the point (which was much more impressive from sea!) we followed
a trail up a hill, through a tunnel, around winding streets ... I love
to think of what went on in these places and homes years ago, how
people lived then, and even now – so very different from my existence
in Santa Barbara. I would love to live here for three months. I would
love to live ANYWHERE for three months, lol!
We came upon a waterfall, along a deserted beach club (considering the
cold weather, I declined to jump in – and so cannot say I've been IN
the Med, only on it) and then to a skinny dark tunnel, which we
thought was the end of the road. But no cars were coming, so we
sneaked through and continued, now in a residential area, lined with
honeysuckle and tulip trees, and finally, as the sprinkles began
again, jumped on a bus to the downtown market area of Gibraltar.
From there it was another 20 minutes walk back to the marina, in the
pouring rain. We were like drowned rats, and have remained so for the
last two days. The weather promises to clear later today ... we hope
to tick off some more chores (and go see the Gibraltar monkeys!).
That's it for an update. Tonight Kim returns with our FULL tank of
cooking fuel (we will repay him in dinner and wine) and then I'll make
a few more meals to freeze, while Annie and Eric wrap up their tasks,
and hopefully set sail in the evening, or Thursday morning. Check our
our track at: http://forecast.predictwind.com/tracking/display/ElGato

a few photos from the Cartagena to Gibraltar leg

show off dolphin

view out my 'bedroom' window

friendly pilot whales

self-portrait at dawn

The Constant Company of Dolphins

My first overnight passage on El Gato. Annie and Eric are very safety
conscious and I am pleased – harnesses, tethers, jacklines, beacons,
strobes, AIS, we have it all – particularly as the wind pipes up at
night, as I'm on watch with Annie. She keeps the big cat in line.

For my first night, I do a swing shift (Eric quips, 'Let's not do a
Bob H****') and spend half a watch with each of them, to get
acquainted with the boat and practices. But pre-dawn, with both of
them exhausted, I graduate to my own watch – and observe once again
the sun rising over the bulbous head of Africa. And then I toss out
the fishing lines, make some breakfast, and start the day.

In the dark hours, Eric and I had talked about past experiences,
compared notes, and spoke about the wonders you see when you're at
sea. Brilliant meteor showers. The clarity of the stars. The ocean
terrain; churning with life. Solitude. Bioluminescence. The constant
company of dolphins.

Night turns to day turns to evening, and we press toward Gibraltar. A
friendly pod of pilot whales visits. Annie catches a tuna. But the
wind directions, current and rain squalls do not cooperate, and our
ETA pushes back, so we approach at nightfall.

But the setting is spectacular. The famed Rock of Gibraltar is
shrouded in clouds, illumined with bursts of lightening. Rounding
Punta Europa is dramatic, and we weave our way through scores of
anchored ships and yachts. Finally we dock, with The Rock to our
stern. Dinner. Gin and Tonics. Talk of a job well done, and more to
come. It has been an incredible 'birthday weekend.' Annie has declared
tomorrow – Sunday – a holiday: we will explore.


UPDATE - wifi and computer technicalities have me a bit behind on
posts but all is well. RAINING CATS & DOGs - haven't seen the monkeys
yet - The Rock of Gibraltar is mostly shrouded with clouds. Hoping for
clearing Wed-Thurs, on to Gran Canaria then!

Sunrise over Algiers

16 October 2015

On the morning of my 57^th birthday, I watched the sun rise over Algiers: a dazzling sliver of fuchsia – like the iridescent breast of a hummingbird – peeking through the irregular mountains of North Africa, shooting peachy hues onto the cliffs of Cabo Tinoso.

We had set off before dawn, from the ancient Roman city of Cartagena, now a small but polished tourist spot; where fisherman, vacationers and cruisers, like us, converge on shimmering marble streets lined with gucci shops and bistros.

The Mediterranean air was cool, and the hills of Cartagena shrouded in clouds, as we set off. In time, the land features faded into the mist. The setting was non-descript: we could have been anywhere in the world. And I have been. Tahiti, France, Argentina, Hawaii, El Salvador, Scotland, South Africa, Thailand, Tierra del Fuego ... the list goes on. I’ve traveled to a mind-boggling number of incredible places – not, perhaps, the life I planned, but the life that has unfolded before me, for which I am thankful.

AFTERNOON
The day progressed beautifully. After lunch and birthday cake – a chocolate tart – I napped on the trampoline in the emerging sun. I showered. I caught a fish – a smallish dorado, just the right size for dinner. Dolphins appeared, and we ran forward to watch the display, sitting at the bow in the afternoon sun; the boat scooting along at 9knots; the small pod of common dolphin racing our amas (they won) with one particular show-off jettisoning out of the water, landing sideways with a splash, over and over again.

I told Annie the only thing that could possibly make it better would be if a Navy Seal parachuted onboard with a case of chilled Veuve Cliquot. Naked. But all told I think it’s a pretty memorable day.

A few photos from today

Our last day in Cartagena - a beautiful city. Shopping for groceries
(mostly) getting ready for Friday morning departure (my birthday!) for
Gibraltar.

A taste of Cartagena

15 Oct 12:30am

Cartagena is a working port and naval base in southeast Spain, and tonight the marina is rollicking with the comings and goings of all sorts of vessels, rumbling and pu-pu-pu-puttering across the rugged landscape, which is so reminiscent of home. Cartagena is located just below Cape Palos, where the coast forsakes the Med and makes its descent toward the Pillars of Hercules (Gibraltar) and the wild Atlantic beyond. Besides the commercial and military vessels, it is a stopover point for cruisers, and our brief neighbors of yesterday, who left right after dawn, were replaced with another cruising boat by noon.

Today started a wee bit late, after our 34-hour expedition here, but we made up for lost time, working tirelessly on a long list of get-ready chores, fixes, replacements, etc. chipping away as best we could. Finally at 9pm I left the boat for the first time, bound for downtown Cartagena, a quick walk along the cobbled waterfront, past boats of various type, size and hailing port.

Carthaginians founded the city around 220 B.C. The narrow streets are paved in marble, and lined with architecture and ruins from the second century and beyond. They're also lined with eateries, and we picked one of the more popular for dinner: house wine and tapas, ordering bit after bit until we were satiated – or at least more tired than hungry, and walked home. Now it is bedtime; we rise at 7, tick more chores off the list, and plan to head for Gibralter tomorrow afternoon.

The wind has softened but it is pleasantly cool, perfect for the sleep I am about to enjoy!

some photos here

the journey

Top to bottom: Barcelona airport, Annie & Eric, waiting for our 400+lb of luggage to arrive; view of Barcelona from the old bull fighting arena (now a mall); on the final leg of the journey - cheese, sausage, baguette & wine on our 7-hour (!) train ride to Cartagena

Hola España!

Oct 14 2:21AM

 

I want to burn my clothes – the clothes I have been wearing nonstop the last 34 hours as we traveled from San Diego to JFK to Barcelona to Cartagena by plane, subway, train, and finally taxi –  requiring two taxis, as we were schlepping our weight in luggage, and transferred it so many times, I felt like Sisyphus: in and out of terminals, up and down elevators, and the lofty steps of trains (gladly off the Barcelona Sants platform which was scurrying with what must be GMO cockroaches – they were so huge and peppy); eight massive, stuffed bags plus heavy backpacks each. Finally we are on El Gato tucked in the yacht marina in Cartagena, the boat looking fantastic but all else swallowed up in the black night. Cartagena is supposed to be a beautiful city and I expect we'll see a bit of it provisioning and prepping for our departure Thurs.

 

My mood's a little more sober than my journal entry Oct 12 when we began our trip: "Approx. 9pm somewhere over the mid-Atlantic enroute to Barcelona I can hardly contain myself in seat 20C; finally on my way to Spain!" But still, yes: excited, a bit anxious, eager to see my surroundings when the sun rises in a few short hours.

 

WED MORNING UPDATE

Cool drizzly night, we all slept in til 9+ (9 is all I'll admit to) getting a first glimpse of Cartagena.

My cabin is AWESOME- big V-berth, windows on both sides of the ama so great ventilation, plenty of stowage, and (drum roll please) my own desk and chair!!! My home for the next month is awesome.

Busy day of provisioning and stowing for the weeks ahead; leaving for Gibraltar (1 ½ days) tomorrow (Thursday. I am 9 hrs ahead of PST) we think – if all chores are done and weather window stays open.

xo

Time to throw off the bowlines ...

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover." - H. Jackson Brown

UPSIDE DOWN SUMMER. TAKE 2.

FADO. “Fate,” in Portuguese.

There could not be a more apropos word.

Fado is a mournful genre of music; I have long listened to – adored – the music of the Great Fadista

Cesaria Evora. It has been my muse, and comfort, during long hours of writing – when spurred by the somber melodies (but not distracted by lyrics, as she sang in Kriolu - a mishmash of Portuguese and West African) I have typed. And typed. And typed.

And now: I am sailing to Sao Vicente, the island of her home (tho’ she’s passed), in the Cape Verde Islands! My God, I even fly out of Cesaria Evora International Airport when I leave!

It is an overwhelming sense of destiny. 

I have dreamed this dream into truth.

‘Much like I dreamed Africa into my reality. For years I had my African library. Every book by and about Isak Dinesen. And then her husband. And then her husband’s lovers. And then her lovers. The neighbors. Kinsman. My library grew – 40 books: an obscure obsession for a Californian. Yet I collected everything I could – current, and antique – of British East Africa.

And then one day, I flew: on assignment, to Cape Town, crossing over the throbbing body of Africa at night:

APRIL 12, 2001:

We fly over exotic places I dream to visit. The bulk of France, the Pyrenees, the sainted walk Paulo Coelho writes of. Spain, Majorca, the Med.

We slice through Africa: Algeria, Niger, Cameroon, Congo,  Angola, Namibia. Hopefully at the light of day I will be able to spy the great savannahs and deserts, before we land in Cape Town.

Beneath me, in humble farms and gracious estates, sparkling cities and crowded huts, perhaps in tents and shacks and even some just bedded beneath the starry sky – thousands will sleep as I drone overhead. Maybe one or two will notice the flashing speck in the sky as we float over Africa. Will they wonder about me in this distant plane: who I am, where do I go, why? Will it even pass through their thoughts for a fleeting moment? Any more than their presence in the sand below tickles mine?”

Fado is a song of destiny. It’s a song of the sea, of poverty – not just monetary, but poverty of spirit. Resignation. Melancholy. Sinking into a longing – “saudade” – that is perhaps, never sated.

And yet mine, always is.

What a blessing.