Off to Figueira da Foz

View Larger Map

We had about 65 miles to cover so we were underway just before sunup. The ocean was incredibly calm, but after the butt whippings we had enjoyed in the past couple weeks, we were very reserved. I had the main and head sail up and motorsailed with the trusty Perkins 4-108 chugging along. We were doing a respectable six knots and were surprised to find ourselves entering the little bay while the sun was high in the sky.

Dolphins were our escort the entire trip and it was truly nice out. The breeze was warm and the sun bright and we were almost lulled into complacency, but not this time!

I did a security check several times and found that water was entering the boat (Still!) and this time, I could see it seeping in around the rudder post.

Interesting. Berthon Boatyard had replaced the rudder gland packing, and they did not tighten the assembly back. Incredibly lucky that we did not lose the rudder during the violent ocean motion we had in the Bay of Biscay. Easy enough repair, all I had to do was tighten the five inch nut. Should be simple, right?

Wrong.

I did not have a pipe wrench capable of turning this nut.

So now I spent my time agonizing about the water entry and closely monitoring the bilge pump's operation and the levels of water.

This is just another example of having a boat yard do work and kicking us out without doing a proper shake down cruise with the list of repairs. Just to see what is broken or unrepaired.

We arrived at about 1600, and we slid into the little marina at closing time. Our friends the "Vikings" spotted us and with loud whoops of welcome, they guided us into an available berth and grabbed our lines. Totally cool arrival!

I stole these pictures from




Stolen from Manor Houses dot com cruising guide.


Over sunset cocktails we swapped yarns of our journey since Brest. The Vikings had an engine failure about twenty miles out of the harbor and used their ten foot dinghy with a 7.5 HP outboard to tow their boat in for the last ten miles. Once in port, the lad's turned to and did a rebuild of their diesel in the ten days that they had been in Figuiera Da Foz.

Awesome! I sure wish I had a crew like this to do our voyage... can you imagine? They rebuilt their diesel in ten days!!!

All I can think of is my lack of talent and the wasted years of not being a mechanic. Oh well.

I asked if they had the appropriate wrench?

They were getting underway the next morning and, "No, we don't have the right wrench."

Like anything I do, it has to be a full production. The next morning I began my search of every hardware store in the town. Nobody had the pipe wrench I needed, and it was the next day when I found a plumbing supply store. Sixty dollars later I had my wrench and I hustled back to the boat.

I got to the rudder post and in eight or nine turns, had tightened the rudder gland.

Just like that. Sixty bucks.

We went to the internet cafe and checked out the weather situation; The weather forecast was not good for the next few days so we settled into a routine of waiting, dining out and enjoying the local atmosphere.

The weather forecast five days later was for the remnant of hurricane Irene to make landfall in our vicinity, so we had to batten down the hatches and secure the boat for a blow.

The marina operators came out and had all of us cruising sailboats rearrange our berths and we all met at 0900 to move about fifteen boats to more secure docks. I was glad to see a virtual NATO of cruisers all pitch in a hand so that the moves were made in an efficiently quick and safe manner. We put four line handlers on each boat with three or four line handlers at the dock to catch lines. This meant that the skipper could fire up his motor, move and be tied up in about ten minutes vice the inevitable banging around that a non-assisted boat would endure.

Like NATO, the only boat who refused assistance of any kind was a French owned Super Maramou 53', he didn't want any of us coming near his boat. Just like NATO.

Capitaine French dude did not trust the English, Americans, Danes and Finns anywhere near his bateau.

We stood by to assist anyway when he started beating his stern into two Portugese sailboats. His was the only damaged boat along with a couple broken outboards and rudders.

Idiot.

The rest of the time was spent enjoying the company of our polyglot fellow mariners, and we enjoyed the rains and winds down below emptying our wine lockers and beer cellars. I also broke out the video and television so we could catch up on the box of video tapes my Mom had recorded for our trip.

So every day, we would venture out to check the weather on the internet and close the evening with dinner and dessert of local Ports.

For three weeks this went on, finally the weather forecasts began to be more favorable for a two day journey to Portimao. We were bypassing Lisbon because of the delays, and we needed to make way towards Rota, Spain. Asap.

In retrospect; Figuiera da Foz was one of the best ports we visited. The cost was about ten U.S. bucks a night, and the fellowship with the other boaters was phenomenal. One such new friend was a young man tending his 36 foot Cat Boat. He greeted us in unaccented American English, and we struck up a conversation, especially because his boat had a Portuguese flag.

As we chatted, we asked where they had lived.

"Oh a small town in Northeast Florida, you wouldn't know it."

I bit; "Oh, you'd be surprised."

"We lived at Jax Beach."

Ah. "What street?" Was my reply.

"Third Street".

I went on and mentioned I lived there while stationed at Mayport. What an incredibly shrinking world, we are in Central Portugal and meet Jax Beach locals.

The only uncomfortable thing we had to bear was learning about some of the local dinner choices. Dining could be exciting due to language restrictions, for example; on the Spousal Unit's birthday, we went to a nice restaurant with the specific idea of ordering steak. I was afraid that I would make a mistake and order say, "Shoe covered in Cheese", or some other ghastly gastronomic ghoulie.

The highest price steak on the menu was "Steak Especial". It may have been spelled Steack Espeziale, or some variation of that theme

Oh boy, this should be good...

Imagine our surprise and disappointment when a small sirloin comes out covered with a fried egg and a dark brown gravy covering the egg and steak?

Bummer.

So we scraped off the offending eggs and choke down our dinner. Another family comes in and they are from a Danish boat on our dock. They mention that they are looking forward to a steak, and I warn them about the "Especial" part. So they order the steak sans "Especial" and they get a beautiful sirloin unfettered by gravies or sunny side up eggs.

I get a surly look from the waiter for scraping off good food. No matter, off to the Casino to see our favorite Maitre D, who invites us to his bar (He was the owner of another place up the street) where we get a private tasting of his best Ports.

The three weeks was a bit frustrating, since we wanted to be in warmer weather but again, one has to take the good deals where you can make them.

Haven't gotten pictures yet, from Phil

But the good news is that a keg of Fuller's "London Pride" will be making its way to the Veldt Lounge.


My favorite beer in the world! (Other than PBR, we are talkin' about Premium beer!)

Just in time for the Bed and Breakfast season here in Jacksonville. Somehow, the past five years has seen an upswell of guests around Thanksgiving time, all from Traverse City Michigan. Latest count is like five, or so.

"Peabody, here... Sherman; to the Wayback Machine."

We return to Leixoes, Portugal.

Arriving at about 1100, we quickly checked in for the real reason for our visit; Getting Propane for our cooking system.

Since Propane is a hassle in Europe, one has to know where to find it. If you happen to be traveling around, it won't be apparent. We were running out, and cooking required propane. A helpful marina dude said he knew where to get propane, so we gave him our four bottles and hoped for the best. Later that afternoon, we got four very heavy bottles and rejoiced. Wildebeest III was set for the next month, or so.

We made the rounds of the small marina and found a couple of friends from Brest. So we got together for beer and snacks and renewed friendships. After all, one never knew if they were going to see these same friends again.

Bad weather and luck can strike anywhere, or you might just go home because you get frustrated with the weather or with boating. It happens.

Chris bid us farewell, since he had business back in London, and we found ourselves alone for the first time in a month. Woo hoo!

The next day an expedition to the City of Oporto was declared. There was much planning and charts consulted, we discovered a bus that would take us into downtown.

One of the young Danish fellows was going with us, and I noticed he was wearing "Shower Shoes" (Military description) civilian nomenclature: Flip Flops.

"You're not wearing those downtown, are you?" I snidely asked.

"Why not?" I wear them everywhere." Sayeth the 19 year old slacker.

"What if you get a 'Blow out', then where will you be?"

"I never have that problem, these are most comfortable for me when traveling."

Idiot. What is with society, when half the people are walking around with very substandard footwear? How will you run if there is a fire, or a ghetto uprising?

We take the public transport and find our selves in downtown Oporto, an ancient seafaring city.

I notice beautiful dark haired maidens, all looking like they just stepped out of downtown Hayward California, with snug black slacks and lovely long, raven hair. Stunning!

Then, you see proud ladies wearing dark skirts; they are married and have children. I am the master of the obvious, no?

We can identify the targets for dating. How convenient, for the single male. Too bad I missed this place in the 70's. Or is it?

This is when our 19 year old Dane has a flip flop malfunction. He is walking barefoot on centuries of spit and dog offal. I smirk with a "I-told-you-so". there is no Surf Shop that sell replacements. But there are wine shops!

Walking along the river Douro, we see the Port wineries and naturally, we just have to visit.

The Douro is a natural highway for transporting the fine wines that have been grown since before the Romans.


We saw the Sandeman winery and found we had a hour or two before the next tour. So we went to the train station to check out the depression era artwork.

They had these wonderful tile murals depicting the Portuguese tradition of adventure and navigation. Prince Henry figures large in these murals.




The pride in their Catholicism is everywhere, too.

The language is closer to Italian than Spanish, so I was completely lost. The Spousal Unit had three years of Latin and had the same result. No matter. The locals were as nice as can be and we were completely welcomed.

So we go the the Sandeman Cellars.


The Museo

Port Barrel




I normally will not pay for a tour of anything, this is from years of experience with USO tours and living in Florida. Anyone can get more out of a visit by studying library references and other publications concerning the area toured. Plus, ther is no constant chorus of, "Stay with the tour, we're moving... keep up with the tour..."

This time, I paid the fee. It was informative and interesting. And we bumped into one of the Lieutenant's from the retirement ceremony! Talk about pleasant surprises.

Here is a photo of this nice fella with the charming Emma, from the retirement ceremony. (I have pictures of this gent in Oporto but since he is still on Active Duty OPSEC requires me to use something to obscure the identity).



We had a great reunion dinner and we invited the LT and his Spouse to stay on the 'Beest, saving them a hundred bucks on lodging. We tried to talk them into sailing with us to Lisbon, but they had air reservations that could not be changed.

The next day we did breakfast and bid our guests farewell. The weather was warm and lent itself to cleaning the Wildebeest and preparing for our next trip to Figueira Da Foz, a mere five hours away. We fueled at the fishing docks and were underway the following morning, about 0600.

Tuesday update

I don't think I got warm until today.

Underway on the Toad at 0830, took off for Beach Marine at full throttle and 20 gallons of gas. The skies were cloudy and there was a pesky North wind.

Arrived about an hour and a half later, refueled, discovered we used all the fuel getting to the intermediary stop. The 125 Mercury is a gas guzzler; If my car burned 20 gallons in 28 miles I would shoot it as a hazard to my economy!

Made it to St Augustine about an hour later, my best run to St Augustune, ever!

Our crew showed up and we had lunch, tied the Toad to the sailboat and got going. We could only do about six knots with a twenty knot wind holding us down.

I was wearing a jacket, t shirt and shorts. I was shivering when the sun disappeared, and we now had a tough time of it in the Intracoastal. We arrived at 2130 and I was frozen mackerel.

Got home at 2330 and think I finally thawed at 0800. Pictures later.

Monday means St Augustine!

My hometown buddy Phil, has a C&C 35 sailboat that is stranded without a motor in St Augustine. I will be leaving for NAS Jax this morning where I will change mode of transportation to the "Toad". The MWR Marina calls it's 20 foot boston whaler "Toad" because it is ugly, gray in color and it has Toad all the small sailboats to and from safety.

I will be driving the "Toad" to St Augustine and we will tow the sailboat up the Intracoastal Waterway to its home at the NAS Jax Marina.

There will be lifejackets, just in case.

Hello fans of the Commander Salamander!

Glad to have you aboard!

I am a retired AW who lived like a Shoe having done 3/4's of my career onboard Frigates and Destroyers as a deployed Lamps helicopter aircrewman.

I am partway through a description of my return from Navy life in London via my sailboat "Wildebeest III" which we sailed from the UK to St Augustine ten years back.

Our story has us stopping in Leixoes, Portugal.

Thanks for coming by.

DC

Sorry about the UA time

"Are you there?"



I have been sorta ill this week, caught some nasty virus along the way. Laid me out for Monday and Tuesday and Wednesday has been a trend for better.

Roger the Shrubber will be arriving from Australia, this evening. Literally by way of Sydney, Dubai, London, Philly (Worse than that unmentionable place in Newark NJ) and finally Jax. I feel for the guy.

I feel for me.

There will be much activity this weekend, will update when inspired.

We stayed in Gijon for a number of days...

There was a serious hunt for leaks and also fine tuning the boat and systems. Turns out that we had a fairly tough go of Biscay, we should have crossed about a month previous. It seems that we were behind the power curve each leg of this voyage.

For example, we were hunkered down in Gijon, and every night the weather seemed to get worse. Winds were high and so were the waves crahing ashore. Gijon wasn't inexpensive, either.

I poured water over every portlight and hatch, and included all of the lifelines and stanchions. Dry.

I couldn't fit into the stern lazarette, so I asked The Spousal Unit to climb inside, I closed the hatch and applied water from a hose.

"Stop, stop, stop the f$%^& water!" She yelled.

We found that Chris had made a loop of nylon webbing that he had placed around the hatch to make easy access in lifting said hatch. (The lever had broken and I hadn't fixed it). The waves would break on the bow, water would run down the deck and drain into the lazarette, which in turn drained into the bilge.

Good. That mystery was solved. We also washed all of our clothes and dried them on the dock. In the afternoons, we would walk down to the market sector and wander about, buying beer, wines and local foods. On one such outing, we found a Chinese restaurant.

"These guys are everywhere!" Said I, "Even in the Middle East, you can find a Chinese restaurant."

We walk in and naturally, they spoke English, so we took a chair and marveled at the great food and the fact we were seeing Asian people speaking Castilian Spanish (Cathtilian Thpanith), and they were very nice and kept my Thervetha topped up. After dinner we continued the evening promenade.

Every evening, especially on Sundays, the entire populace of Gijon would come out in their Sunday best clothes and walk as a family up and down the seawalk. You could tell that this was a time for quiet reflection as well behaved children and proud parents/grandparents would show off their families in a show of dignity I had never witnessed before.

Made us want to walk along, even though I was wearing blue jeans and polo shirt.

In the mornings, we would wrap up the household chores and make for town. We stopped once at some seafood place and discovered Crawfish.

So we grabbed a sack o' crawdad's and headed back to the 'Beest.



First, we talked Chris into leaving the boat for the evening. Then after he departed, we gave our extra special guest a little bath in salty water. One of the bugs was slick enough to climb out of the sink and onto the counter.

We call this photo: A Study of Dinner in Gijon



A little remoulade was made and garlic bread was created in the oven. Dinner was really nice and it was a great way wrap up our Gijon visit.

Wildebeest III needed about forty gallons of diesel, and naturally, no fuel dock. This meant humping four jerry cans one half mile, carrying forty pounds in each arm. All morning long, it was. Plus we paid road taxes on the diesel so it was a double burn. In Europe, at the time, you paid for tax free diesel for marine use. Unless you had to buy at a gas station. Same in America, but they raise price of the diesel so you get no break for the lack of taxes.

Loaded and underway at about 1500, we were off and running like a herd of turtles, about a 100 NM trip ahead of us.


View Larger Map

It was pleasant enough, for the first six hours. Soon the sun was down and the winds started picking up from the North West. We were motor sailing to ensure we got our five knot planned speed.

The crew was kind of nervous, but we passed Ribadeo and a number of ports along the way. You could tell the ports by the bright lights in a dark field of menacing, rocky shoreline.

I took my first break at about 2200, went below and jammed myself between the galley table and the berth. We were bouncing and swinging quite a bit. I did my best to try and sleep, but no; I was going to lay there is this state of hyper awareness, not quite getting rest. I knew there would be a price to pay when I stood my watch, and everyone else would be snugly dry in the cabin. Sleeping.

Chris took his relief at midnight, and I hopped up on deck to a roly-poly sea, with winds remaining at about 18 knots from the North West. I was relieved at about 0300 and snoozed for real for about an 3 hours or so, when we found ourseves in range of La Coruna.

We entered the harbor with no idea where to go and the docks looked chock a block with boats. We found a mooring and settled. The dinghy was still secured, so I did not bother to check in. About 1000, some harbor master came out and yelled at us to move, so we complied. He had us tie up to a moored fishing vessel, so I felt a bit miffed.

It would have been nice if we could get a shower and maybe an afternoon ashore, but not this time.

This is the view off the stern.



We opened some beer and wine and had a little dinner party with our shipwreck casserole. We set Taps at 2100 and had a wonderful rest.

The next morning, up and at 'em at 0600, we decided to get underway ASAP to avoid paying dockage fees. After all, they didn't let us ashore and they probably just wanted the Wildebeest to just go away. Them good deals, ya know.

It was a beautiful morning and the breeze was a gentle 12 knots from the North. We opened up the sails and commenced the down hill run to Oporto, the real target being the fishing village of Leixoes, pronounced La Zhoys.

First, though; We had to get by Finnisterre.


View Larger Map

Finisterre is a cape that juts out into the Atlantic, and the Latin term means "Lands End". This is where you get the influences of Bay of Biscay and the Atlantic ocean beating each other for dominance of the sea both in current and weather. Nasty.



We had dolphins follow us out and it was calm enough at first. About 1300, the winds increased to about 22 knots and it was getting REALLY bumpy. I tried to pull in the head sail and again, just like Cherbourg, the sheet knotted up and began its sine wave battering of the boat and Captain.

A knot formed and whipped into my face. It was like a punch in the cheek and eye and it laid me out and flung my glasses over the side. I quickly moved to get my glasses, which were swirling in the water (onboard the boat) by a drain, and grabbed them back.

I also had a small black eye and fat lip for my efforts.

Back to the fun; We managed to get the head sail rolled up but left the main up for stability and some forward motion. We were motor sailing again.


The swells became enormous, and we would climb up and dive down. They were at least 25 feet and I was nervous, but what could we do?

We reached Finnesterre about 1800, near sundown. Nothing notable, just more rocky cliffs. The swells started easing and we settled into roly poly chop, again. I went below for the first sleep, so Chris could enjoy what we Naval Aviation types call "Pinky TIme". Pinky time helps transition to night time which is of course, Dark AS Hell. It can be disconcerting for someone to just step out on deck, expected to drive the boat when it is as dark as a politician's soul out there.

We noticed a large number of fishing boats trawling back and forth, connected by nets to each other.

Just something else to have to worry about!

It was still quite bumpy when I got the call at about midnight to come up on deck.

"Skipper, there are flares to the west; shall I adjust course to try to help?" Called Chris.

I scooted up on deck, and for sure there was another flare being launched. This was a tough one, I had never been in this situation as a civilian, and certainly my thoughts were in getting the "rescue".

"No, Chris. "Maintain course."

"We have to alter course and lend a hand, its the RULES!" Shouted Chris.

I was not liking his tone of voice. This is my boat and I'm responsible for all on board.

"Chris, this is my f@%&*ing boat, I say what we do. "There are plenty of professionals out here to help that fishing boat. Look at the two that are hightailing to the west?"

"You can hear the Mayday on the radio, the Coast Guard will be here in minutes with a helicopter and we have this mast which will just hazard the rescuers.... Besides, we are five miles away, it would take an hour to get there and it will be over by that point."

I could understand Chris' point, but I knew the risks we would be taking just to get involved. If there were no other boats and no Coast Guard, I would have bustered over to lend a hand, gladly.

About a minute after our argument, a Dauphin Helicopter passed our bow heading to the site of the emergency.

I felt vindicated.

The seas were still bumpy and it was difficult to move around. And we were tired.

Chris announced, "If I fall over the side, don't do anything extraordinary to rescue me. I want you to stay safe."

WTF?

"Chris, are you nuts?"

"The seas are such that I wouldn't want anyone to risk themselves to rescue me, that's all."

Now I had heard it all!

"Don't be silly, if anyone falls over the side, of course we will make all efforts to rescue. "I just didn't want to get in the way of that other rescue, but for our crew, I would make all effort."

And with that I took over the watch for the next couple hours.

The boat would lean all the way left, then swing to the right. Up the wave and down. Over and over again until dawn, when Biscay had finally lost its grip on us. The seas smoothed out and it was lovely, indeed.

Sunrise



As we began preparations for entering port, we found this stowaway had committed suicide on the Wildebeest. We made much mirth on this Gar.



Aside from the little deal with rolling up the headsail, there were no major flaws in this leg. The Wildebeest had pretty much gotten all of our little details ironed out, and that was a good thing. Chris was leaving us in Leixoes, so the Spousal Unit and me would be sailing alone as far as Rota, Spain.

Our friends the "Fair Rose of Sharon" from Denmark would be in Leixoes along with some others we had met in Brest.

Finally, some fun!