Singlehanded Atlantic Crossing:
Georgia, USA to Canaries, Spain (2008)
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Here comes an account with details from my single handled adventure across the mighty Atlantic. I tried my best to remark on the much varied weather conditions I found on this passage.
I´ll keep adding more subjects slowly. (How slowly??... Have you heard the word "Mańana"?? )
Departure
WARNING: As you may have found out already, English is not my native language. Please you, dear reader, be patient with my spanglish. Coffee may help...
With Pájaro lockers topped with food and the conviction that I did my best to prepare him, the morning of the 16th, with my blue metal cup full of chocolate a cigarette on the lips and hand on the tiller, Pájaro was committed to try it again.
Just twenty four hours earlier, after beating hard a SE on the St.Simmon´s channel towards the open ocean, passage had proven to be impossible. But during the day and night the wind had veered to the SW and now was a good chance to leave under sail.
After having a beautiful first sailing day at sea, the very first night at 70 miles off the Georgia coast just floating on top the mighty Gulf Stream, Pájaro and myself were put to the test (rather involuntarily?) by which later I was told were the "remains" (45 knots and more) of the Tropical Storm "Ophelia" (?) tracking up from the Florida coast.
As the wind intensified, and running became too risky, I made the decision to heave-to and let it pass, and for the whole night Pájaro was being thrown side to side with knock downs at 30 to 45 degrees helm, under storm jib only and under the weight of fat blind waves splashing the windows violently and filling the cockpit every minute. I decided to call this situation "The washing machine".
Since I don't remember wind as bad as this before, I could not compare it to any previous experience. This brought a sense of "well, this must be how heavy weather feels here". Ignorance is bliss sometimes. If I had known that thing even had a woman's name, I would have felt much more nervous.
I enjoyed a cold dinner, tea and cigarettes, while hoping that if any big ship would pass nearby, would see my huge "cargo-ship-dimension" all around light shinning up the mast or at least a modest beep on his radar screen.
If none, I must had made about 25 trips outside making adjustments to my tiller to leeward and storm jib sheets to keep pointing close to the huge swell. Swimming shorts, a body harness and a towel waiting in the cabin proved to be the greatest and only foul weather gear available after soaking my last pair of jeans and t-shirts on board the mighty Pájaro.
The biggest mishap was to lose the largest wind vane polycarbonate blade on the storm while trying to replace it for the smaller one. For normal wind I ended up using the blade available, adapted with an extension made out of storm jib spare sailcloth and galvanized wire out of a hanger along with a shock cord to keep it in place.
This invention not only worked pretty good for the remainder of the trip but, I haven't ordered the genuine blade yet as today. (Maybe I should..) It is tricky to change a blade "too late" when the wind is already blowing hard.
After this severe weather, my confidence and pride on the boat rose exponentially, to the stars and beyond.
Just a few hours of total calm and deep blue water, came the night under an idyllic moon, and I gratefully watched some of the best known constellations while floating on a black glass sea. A few hours later, already the 18th of May, the breeze came along and pushed Pájaro again. Among other arrangements, I used this fair weather to transfer my outboard from the bracket to a cockpit locker.
A coffee and an omelet later, Pájaro re-tracked and made good for 10 miles lost on drift among the first screenings of brown Sargasso seaweed of the passage. By late afternoon I was flying with the wind on my starboard quarter under the suction of that passed low with jib only under a SW reaching force 6 to 7 at times which lasted 2 full days of exhilarating sailing.
By then Pájaro had covered more than half way the distance to Bermuda or about 450 miles. Huge sea water mounts passing under and accelerating the speed anywhere from 5 up to 11 GPS surfing knots at times! It took me some time to get use to looking at these huge waves in the eyes. But just after a few hours of not being devoured by them, I fully enjoyed their sight and blue magnificence.
The night of the 20th was a beautiful one, with a SW of 12 to 15 knots on the quarter and lots of cooking, reading and ocean joy. I tried to catch a fish. It must have been a huge one because it took the plastic pink squid, leaving only the line as a violin broken string.
That night I had this big luxurious ship coming straight at me. I watched her for a variation on her course but the colored lights where just getting bigger every minute. I decided to contact them, to make sure they had seen me. "Motor Vessel Starfire, bound to Gibraltar, yes, we see you, we just wanted to take a closer look..". They reported to me that Pájaro jumped "in and out" of their radar 18 miles ago and settled to a steady signal at a distance of 8 miles. It made me very happy to know the radar reflector was useful.
It must have been a pretty picture to see Pájaro's silhouette with a huge full moon light sitting in the horizon behind, and full sails. (If any of the 12 crew members from STARFIRE happens to be reading this, please take a moment to forward a picture of that event to me). Next day as every afternoon at UTC, I listened to Herb Hildenberg on Southbound-II on the receiver announcing near gale force winds visiting us for the 21st night.
Those winds came as fast as they left, leaving just 10 knots. In the afternoon of the 22nd a change of direction and the sails started to slat of emptiness for the second time. With the barometer rising and the temperature dropping, indicating that the center of a high was right over our heads to stay. That's what the variable factor had for us at this season and that's what I would use to help Pájaro move East.
The 25th wind returned in the shape of squalls. I used them to move on until it changed direction to NE, right on the bow. So I started to take alternate tacks with the hope of making some way good. The wind finally started to veer and that brought me up to watch the first lights of Gibb's Hill and the island of Bermuda on the emotional night of the 29th.
St. George's arrival
In the morning the outboard was made ready on the stern bracket, the anchor on the bow and I approached the island from its SW and proceeded to the NE to enter the Town Cut Channel.
Surrounded by coral reefs, I can't believe how beautiful this place is for its latitude with all that white sand and turquoise water. I can neither believe how prohibitive the prices are!!! The customs officers charged me with a 35$ "Head fee" (?). Maybe there's no fee for headless torsos. (But better to ask first…)
I spent a couple of days exploring that part of the island re-provisioning when possible and making some friends in the anchorage. The water was turquoise, the temperature was perfect. I took some time to check my rigging, re-tuned it and checked my underwater fittings among other things.
I would had stayed longer, but the wind shifted S and since this area is prone to calms and variability and having no engine to rely on I decided to use it, and departed the 1st of June bound to the Azores. I'm glad I did that since I had lots of wind from then on as opposed to other late departures.
The longest night…
After departing Bermuda for the Azores Pájaro not only I didn't encounter any calms, but rather too much wind most of the days, and I made this trip in just 19 days sailing quite conservatively.
That's been the longest I've been "out there" and although I had moderate winds and fair weather for the most, some moments where scary, specially when hearing Herb Hilgenberg asking some sailors in the same latitude Pájaro was, to divert south of it immediately "to save their boats" because of a "gale system" (meant in the context of one stationary low being merged by a new approaching low) the was coming straight to our positions.
Already another single handed sailboat who left from Bermuda bounded for Halifax had been lost at sea those days, and Herb along with the U.S. Coast Guard where conducting the search. Going south? Ok, but it was too late for Pájaro.
That night I did my best under winds gusting more than 45 knots, on my starboard side (since I could not heave-to, if I wanted to escape the worst weather) trying to reach from parallel 34 down to 32, always keeping an eye on my cabin compass now and then between naps when I heard it. That strange noise. Laughing with a funny "tu-tuck…tu- tuck….tu-tuck….".
It was 4:00 am and I woke from my bunk and looked to the cockpit through my much scratched lexan board, looking for the damned piece of rope. The rain was beating hard. Hum mm. No loose rope. Where does this noise comes from?
Time stood still when on an eye glance I wisdom horrorized how the tiller was dancing, hanging there broken at the base (5mm bronze legs, broken as butter). Then a look to my cabin compass. The course was right. What the heck was going on!!! A bad dream??? Yes, just wait... After being unable to think and waiting for 10 seconds hoping that was just a bad dream I stood still. It was too vivid and I was too conscious to be dreaming.
No! This was not a dream!! This was REAL, PURE adventure. This was me, this was Pájaro and this was the Atlantic!!! The middle of it none the less. Not a Tristan Jones book episode. This was MY adventure, and my privilege. And I would help Pájaro. We mighty warriors of the blue matter would not be defeated by a treacherous stupid LOW!!! With those thoughts in mind it took me 15 minutes (which in my brain processed like 8 hours) to have ready a jury with two aluminum plates I happened to have on board and using my drill connected to my inverter, all this under a roaring gale and underway inside a train bounded to hell.
Luckily Pájaro was fairly balanced with the sails so kept course with 3 reefs on the main and storm jib as a straight line. Luckily? Maybe was not luck. Could a sailboat be alive enough to help you on a distress like this one? Not giving up a degree on the compass rose? With so many puffs? If a heart is made of cells and moves, then we call it LIFE. Could Pájaro be a big heart made of cells of glass and plastic? Let me think so, without you thinking I'm nuts.
When I returned to my bunk to roll a cigarette, I had inside me the pride and majesty of a king and the best dragon of the region flying him. I was taking care of him, he was taking care of me. The glare of the daylight salutes you!!! But the problem had not been a jealous mad wizard…The problem had been the ropes from the vane bringing the tiller arm up. Unable to turn on a proper angle, allowing enormous forces to fall into the bronze bracket, which created resistance, and parted.
After all, it's better to break the tiller than the rudder. That was the worst day. That was a moment that although exciting (and good for self discoveries and to discover weak points on the boat set up) I wouldn't like to relive, but for the rest, that was the trip of a lifetime. For most of the days I enjoyed winds of 15 to 20 knots and that was only at 34 degrees latitude. Weren't the Westerlies supposed to blow up in the forties??
Then about 50 longitude, after this infamous system passed I re-tracked NE to Flores. Herb kept announcing there was no need to go north where too strong winds were expected. So the tracking up to the NE was reserved to the last days of the passage.
From then on, I didn't always heave-to when in a blow since after losing my fear of 35 knots winds if I'm able to balance the boat upon the direction. On that wind strength, Pájaro does good with 3 reefs and a small jib, for reaching, or the smallest jib alone for running. If there's cross swell and the tracking is poor, then I allow the front to pass me, while heaving to, and drink some tea and sleep or try to focus my mind on something other than the weather.
I found the weather on this adventure to be a companion. Not a single feeling of loneliness. Like a person, weather tunes you on to different moods and becomes, at least to me, a traveling companion to relate with. So we where three friends: Pájaro, the weather and myself. (Maybe I should share this with a psychiatrist...)
Bound for the Azores
The slow passage to Bermuda was followed by a much windier passage to the Azores which I reached on June 19th scapping another of those infamous "gale systems". I reached the Porto das Lajes at sunset and under sail. I paid for the slight mistake of approaching the anchorage on a rather too wide angle from the SE. The wind was W and Pájaro had to do quite a bit of tacking to reach the break water waiting to windward.
I finally made it with the last sun rays, fearing the approach of that announced heavy weather system.
I liked Flores to the point of spending almost 4 full weeks along with the company of the many sailors from the US, France, and England, myself being the only Spanish representative.
I was waiting for a friend to visit who, at the end and due to a very serious young family member's sickness, decided to wait for me instead. When getting ready to depart, a stiff E wind trapped me and others inside the anchorage for an extra week. I used those days to make an emergency rudder to use on my wind vane among other things.
In Flores some of the local community is made of past cruisers that changed the boat for a permanent residence in this island hidden from the worst aspects of "civilization and progress". Special mention to the super easy going port captain named Victor who became a great friend from the first day. Also Mike, a Hawaiian ocean wanderer, who knows the seas of the world as good as his own hand. He's a computer wizard and programs and installs his self made navigation program on many boats!!
May I meet him again anchored on his salty Bristol Channel Cutter to keep learning from his kind words. Marcel the French wanderer, Keljd "the Danish", the Quijote and his far west bailaora, and many other from the water community that will live on in my memory. I left Pájaro's name and silhouette with old blue paint on the breakwater as a way of staying indefinitely.
Hopefully I'll be able to check if the paint holds. And that would be a valid excuse to come back.
The island is a paradise hidden in the mist of the ocean. Once you get hypnotized by the southern face waterfalls falling from the green high peaks, there's no sailing back of this little Swiss of the ocean.
From Flores with a heart full, I sailed to Angra do Heroismo in the island of Terceira. After enjoying the town view from the anchorage (now part of the UNESCO human patrimony consign) and then walking the streets up and down I decided to leave the very next morning.
Why? Because of the rigidity of Portuguese uniforms, and feeling the break of the spell which Flores had cast on me starting to get fouled with the unmistakable stink of sick society, mad just for and because of money making. I left. No more dreaming, the magic was over, now you are nothing more than what you have. Yes, now yes, welcome to the European Union …
Home bound
The morning I left Terceira the breeze was very slight. I had my downwind weapon wide open like a cloud. Main boom, poling the drifter, and the jib on the whisker. It took Pájaro exactly ten days of great sailing to cover 850 miles to the Canaries.
On this third phase of the adventure I could not help feeling a much better seaman than when I left the US. I had sailed many different conditions of wind strength and direction with success. I could read the wind much better. With the confidence that only an experience like this can give you I was much more relaxed than when I started; I believe I was enjoying the sailing even more.
The Spanish exterior radio was clearer than ever. At the latitude of Madeira I made the decision to bypass it. I was happy on the ocean, and had no wish of approaching land. Since I was going home, and the adventure was coming to an end, I wanted the gale and the wave more than ever. Instead I got zero wind for one full day 80 miles off the Madeira archipelago.
Trying to get the most of the little puffs, I must have crossed an invisible boundary, because in a matter of an hour the wind was piping with quite some strength from the E. I was going SE and was rather uncomfortable to beat. The gale stayed with us for a day and a half and I heaved-to at times to ease the motion.
The last two days before reaching the east coast of Lanzarote I had moderate wind on the port quarter from the NE. One morning on my FM radio: "La Isla de los Volcanes...". I could not help to contain an eruption of emotion. To see volcanoes rising from the blue was emotive to say the least. José Saramago said once that Lanzarote's shapes are those of an old sleeping naked witch. It was not the first time for me to smell her dusty breath, but it was for Pájaro. I could feel Pájaro jumping under me merrily out of curiosity.
Pájaro, old bastard... I knew in advance that you would like that dusty witch floating off the African coast... And I may be wrong but some nights from the quay, when I look at you under the orange glare of the lamps, I can see your bow smiling while dancing with the night breeze.
Lanzarote, September 2008
Pájaro equipment
After many months spared in the period of 3 years in Salem, NJ and then in Brunswick, GA, just days before departure Pájaro ended up with basic but strong modifications including:
Sails
Hank-on sails, some of which I made myself from a Sail-rite kit (a light wind drifter and a storm jib). Because of the lack of time in the months prior to departure I decided to order a new trysail from MackSails and they also added a third reef for the main. The complete sail inventory on board the mighty Pájaro is as follows: Main with three reefing points, 150% genoa, 150% Drifter, 100% working jib, #2 70% of "working" size jib, 50% small jib, storm jib, and a try sail.
I found the old 100% working jib to be the most used, along with the 50% and the storm jib for stronger winds and heavy weather. The drifter was also much required between US and Bermuda. The genoa didn't see the sunlight once!
Rigging
In NJ, I installed a whole new rigging (1/4, 1x19 wires) with added backstay and a "security" extra forestay (it may look like a masthead rigging, but still a 7/8 rig, with jumper struts; the extra forestay is kept without much tightening), all on external chainplates fabricated by my friend and sailor Ted Simpkins.
I also installed a Norvane windvane self-steering, a manual windlass with a self-made bow roller, 4HP outboard on a bracket, and a lazarette stern rail (which was from a neglected Catalina 27 but fits like a glove).
The triton #386 Atom, which James sailed two and half times around the planet, has been my standard in seaworthiness for a small craft since I read his work, just like Robert Mary's Tinkerbelle was. His "strong and simple" ways match my own idea of "craft at sea" and because simplicity often implies fewer gadgets (also most of the time manual vs. electronics), and for that reason less expenses, following his ideas has made cruising an affordable reality.
After sailing to Georgia with the help of my friend James "De Gama" Baldwin, we added very important upgrades to this spoiled little bastard of the seas, also known as "Pájaro":
We reinstalled my 55 watt single solar panel on a SolarTracker mount (one of the original mounts in the venerable Atom; what a pride) mainly because James could not suffer any longer the vision of my original installation-abortion.
This single panel supplies far more energy than is needed on my modest installation. This solar energy is kept by two 6 volt Trojans connected in series for 200 amps capacity;
Halogen and fluorescent lamps for the cabin (5 watts each), running lights (stern and bi-color,20 watts total), top of the mast dioptic halogen lamp (5 watts), 750 watt, 120 volt inverter for tools (it may have saved my life), handheld GPS, VHF and SSB receiver.
There's something very special in turning on a reading light, knowing that is a pure distillation of sunlight. Like a great "scotch", it feels like keeping a shot of good golden sunlight in a bottle.
A dipole antenna for receiving frequencies of 12000 kHz. The stainless wire itself worked for the length of the passage. But corrosion has won the battle. Usually Jim installs them using bronze wire, but at the time we used what was available.
Neither could he suffer the vision of my old jib tracks to be used on an ocean crossing. He ordered new tracks and blocks and helped me to choose the right location for them. This single change made a whole world of difference to the handling. Something like driving a car with new tires (no… much better).
Another important upgrade on Pájaro was FINALLY adding a real reefing system, with 3 good big cheek blocks through bolted on the boom. James showed me how and where to install them properly. These are very strong.
We also ordered 125', 5/16" HT chain for anchoring.
One of the ways I paid my bills for those materials, was stripping (accidentally) some (all?) young fruit trees that Mei had been growing for years in her garden. The crazy grass-cutters got out of control. Besides, those trees looked like parasite mangroves..? ;(
On Steering…
Believe or not I didn't have to steer any more than two hours of the total time on landfalls for this trip. The mighty Norvane worked to perfection. I could not be happier with this extraordinary piece of machinery called a windvane. Seriously, I couldn't have done the crossing without this invention. For more info and prices click here: www.selfsteering.com
Dodger? What dodger?
I made this "sea hood" or box out of 3/4" plywood and 2" by 4 " pieces on the sides to cover the hatch slides and avoid splashing water finding its way into the cabin. Then after painting it, the afternoon before my departure, I added some canvas I had around and placed it with a flexible PVC tube and screwed it to the sea hood using also sealant for the canvas. The whole structure was bonded to the cabin top with marine silicone only. No screws since I wanted it just as a temporary solution for the crossing. It happened to be strong enough. Besides, the dinghy was sitting on top and well tied to the handrails.
I plan to "refine" it a bit soon, but so far still up there. Not a single drop came in. As you can imagine, it doesn't offer full protection from the spray when you sit down on the cockpit as dodger would. But the idea was mainly to keep the water from entering the hatch. It worked.
Food and water
For cooking, I used a single burner kerosene stove on gimbals which I copied from online plans for the Atom Stove about 3 years ago while working onboard a Holland America cruise ship. The different parts were welded using welding shops on locations all over the world, like Madras (India), Phuket (Thailand), and Bali (Indonesia). Besides its great performance, this stove bracket has a high sentimental value.
On this trip many nights, flying fishes decided to end their lives by jumping on Pájaro's back and waiting for oxygen starvation. And so did some squid fellows. They entered my stomach next via sauce-pan and olive oil and were washed down with coffee. (I know, but listen, at sea anything goes and everything tastes much better at sea because the air is cleaner and we can smell better).
I sailed away with a 50 gallon flexible water tank and 10 extra gallons on two water jugs. That was a lot of fresh water!!
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A week SKIPPERING a Beneteau Oceanis 50 "VICTORIANO", Balearic Islands, Spain (June 2010)
From June 20th to June 27th I got hired to "skipper" a Beneteau Oceanis 50 named "Victoriano" with 3 families (with a total of 5 kids and 6 adults plus myself) onboard. The itinerary started in Mallorca (Es Trenc), then to Cabrera island, then to Formentera and Ibiza before heading back to Mallorca.
When I accepted the assignment I found it a bit scarry to have so many kids onboard. But after just a few hours of meeting the creatures and observing how respectful and well-educated they were, I decided to "co-hire" them as part of the "Victoriano" crew immediately. Now that this magical trip is over I must admit I miss them as the best friends I ever had. Alex, Sean, Marina, Tony and princess Jackie from here, your great help handling the boat will be missed and thanks for making the best of the trip and for all the monster laughs in the first hours of the morning. As for the parents (Roser, Dawn Rappold, Dawn Rodriguez, Jim, Pedro and of course the master of ceremony and newly gained sailing friend and regattist fanatic Victor Del Pozo) (He had this maniacal ability to "see" thermal wind on a crystal glass sea!!). I feel so proud to have shared such a trip with this crowd, that I just hope to meet them again next summer if they hire me to repeat the experience as is planned. They made this trip unique because of their personalities, their cooking, and the out of nowhere improvised parties along with "Los Chichos" "Julio Iglesias" and "Abba" singing out loud through the boat speakers. Except for one night at Formentera, we anchored in the many bays these unique islands had to offer. As for the boat, the biggest word that comes to mind is "comfort". Perfect for the task as a dry boat for 11 people. Since the boat was only 1 month old, no major problems could be found other than bad quality boat accessories (mainly broken reading lamps) not passing the "kids test". Since we had light or no wind, most of the sailing was left to the Yanmar engine and the Raymarine autopilot. Since the sailing was done in light wind conditions, the sails (being new and immaculate as they were) were used completely unfurled and the performance was really good. For once, and because all of the fun, I forgot about the less automatic, stronger and "closer to nature" ways of my "Pájaro". All that is left for me is to let the images of this unforgettable event speak for themselves:Top of Page
Pájaro at Lobos Island (Fuerteventura, Islas Canarias)
N 28.7° W 13.8°
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Near a mile off the Fuerteventura NE coast, like a volcanic elephant coming up the ocean abyss, Lobos Island is found. In days gone by, Lobos was home to dense populations of seals known in Spanish as "lobos de mar" or sea wolves, hence the island's name. |
Anchorage
At El Puertito, translated "little port," located on the island’s southern shore, you can drop the hook on 5 to 8 meters of sand and shells in between the concrete dock on the East and the reef of La Concha Beach to the west. Exposed to the W, El Puertito is well protected from the N by the island and from the NE and E by a natural breakwater. Four moorings were available, although because their current condition is unknown to me, I would not recommend their use.
On my third visit to Lobos with Pájaro (winter 2008) my anchor got fouled with old mooring remains on the bottom (heavy old chains) and it took me some diving to set it free. In any case the water is very clear and inviting regardless of the reason.
From the anchorage the beach bay of La Concha is in sight, well surrounded by a low reef of rocks, as an atoll, which encloses an spectacular blue lagoon.
To cross the reef with the dinghy is quite tricky and requires most of your seamanship to synchronize with the swell. Once in, the possibilities of abstraction are wide with trails to enjoy through the whole island so as to allow you disappear in her beauty...
Walking the Trail to La Caldera (The Cauldron) and Through the "Interior de Malpais" (Inner Badlands)
From La Concha bay you'll find the main trail, a natural promenade, to appreciate the bizarre rocks from outer space, the abundance of vegetation (some of it unique to this part of the world), and its many flowers, among them the purple "romero de lobos." On the ground the noisy lizards and geckos hiding in the mangroves and every once in while a rabbit giving the visitor a real demonstration of grace. Looking up in the air, one could see shearwaters, petrels, ospreys, and many seagulls fiercly protecting their eggs, which were nested inside lava cavities, with their wild cries as one walks by them.
Ten minutes on the trail comes an exit for the Caldera, highest peak of the island, a 127 meters high volcano. Continuing on the trail, on the "malpais" or "badlands" landscape (composed mostly by lava rocks and white sand) is like entering the time machine.
Let it be the Cosmic Egg's recent explosion, the Jurassic period, watching the three carabels leaving on the west horizon for the Columbus discovery expedition, or as a "castaway" witnessing a 15th century pirate's landfall on a dinghy, arguing while hiding a coffin in the sand. If you prefer a trip on a future odyssey instead, visiting the dry moon of Lobos, or as the only surviving member of the last human colony in Humans Island, as happened with the seal colony that used to inhabit the island, of which only the name "Lobos" remains untouched.
To walk here, is always a trip to our unaware imagination. It is not until seeing the lighthouse for the first time, that we come back to our era to enjoy the poetry of this cathedral.
The Martińo Lighthouse
The lighthouse is located on the top of a hill. The big terrace in front of the main building was used in the past as a rain water catcher for the light house operator and his family’s needs.
In the building a bronze plate reminds us that "...in this corner of the Atlantic, under the humble shine of Martińo’s light, was born in 1903 the poetess Josefina Plá..."
La Olla de Las Lagunitas (Little Lagoons Valley)
Under the lighthouse hill, small lagoons can be seen. This grey lagoons is surrounded by little hills with grass and, after rainy days, composes a unique landscape as if it was blown south by the Alissyum wind from the remote Scottish Highlands.
If not a majestic castle under the spell of a lighthouse appearance, one expects to find at any moment a white and splendid unicorn satisfying her thirst on the lagoon waters.
Additional Information
Lobos, covering an area of 467.9 hectares and a coastline of 13.7 km, was one of the first nature areas of the Canary Islands to be designated as “protected” by the Parque Natural Isla de Lobos Declaration in 1982. And in 1994 the European Community Commission included Lobos in the Spanish areas of special protection for birds. The white-headed eagle used to nest in the island in the recent past. Some of its rare birds are unique and not to be seen anywhere else on the planet!!
This little island is a sanctuary for over 130 species of vegetation well adapted to high salinity, some of them unique not only to the island but to the world, such as "La Siempreviva" (limonium ovalifolium canariense)
PHOTOS
Here comes a selection of pictures taken between summer and winter of 2008 during three different visits on board Pájaro with family, friends, and by myself.
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ICW Space Odyssey (2008)
Here comes an account on how I left New Jersey and the brand new adventures I encountered "en route" while sailing down the East Coast to Georgia, preceeding an Atlantic crossing the same year.
By December of 2007, I had completed all the refits planned for Pájaro. It was about time to move on. The New Jersey winter was starting to beat the drum, so I got ready to sail anywhere just to escape the chilling breeze.
The last of the many useful presents which my great friend Ted Simpkins gave me in the course of 7 months was a brand new chart book with the whole east coast down to Florida including the ICW. I wanted to go home across the ocean, but the best season for this was five months away.
While waiting I decided to sail down to the state of Georgia, new home of one of my favorite adventurers of the whole world. Also once there I would be able, with the assistance of a leading expert in offshore sailboat equipment (and a double circumnavigator onboard Atom, also a Triton), to add some important upgrades to Pájaro.
That's how, one early and cloudy morning, after many individuals farewells the night before with the many good friends I made in that part of the planet while transforming Pájaro (among them Fred Mucci from Salem Waters, who sponsored the new trip with a stock of albacore, crackers, and dishes) and with a heart full, left the Salem Basin for the Delaware Bay.
With so much to learn ahead of me, my spirits where high. I was finally sailing again, this time alone, with a stronger-than-ever Pájaro.
The strong southeast breeze of that first day forced me to take the C&D canal instead, which would mean re-visiting the Chesapeake Bay. That was fine with me. Adventures are hidden in every corner. The first stop was the Chesapeake City anchorage. Other stops in the Bay were Annapolis (my second time with Pájaro) where I arrived few days before a huge international political event know as the Annapolis Summit.
There I met Tom, anchored in his sturdy and beautiful "Mutiny," a Bounty 32 also designed by Carl Alberg in the sixties, whose spirit matched very well with her peaceful sixties-minded skipper.
Two days after, at 7:00 am, we were kicked out (invited to leave?) by the security police who were clearing the whole basin in preparations for the presidential arrival, etc.. With a blow expected and no option to stay (because they politely asked us to get the heck out of there), Tom and I headed down the bay, with plans of sailing to Redville, a small fisherman's bay, perfumed by burnt herring, that I happened to discover two years earlier while sailing from Virginia to NYC.
However, when I made it near there it was already dark, and it was difficult to see the entrance, so I just kept going south to Norfolk with a brisk sail and fresh wind in the quarter, while having dinner and listening to music.
With a gale developing from the NW which I almost did not notice sailing downwind, at 3:00 am when at the high of the Wolf Trap Light, the seas started to grow impossibly high, shorter and ridiculous. Without the ability to reef the main properly because I was still using roller reefing, the main looked as if I was drying the oldest of my dirty bag of white underwear on the wind. I decided to hand off the main, but even so, with the storm jib only, Pájaro was flying uncontrollably through the crests at a steady 7 knots!!
In the confusion I must have overlooked the mainsheet halyard in her cleat which had flow up to the mast upper block and down to the deck like a dead snake falling from a tree, much to my astonishment!!!
Unable to stop this crazy train called Pájaro, I was getting nearer and nearer to the lights of the unknown coast of Virginia, surrounded by very low waters and day beacons, confusing beacon flashes, fish traps, wrecks, and other "you-name-it local knowledge" Pandora box of surprises, with crests coming aboard soaking me and making their way into the cabin at times.
With the first rays of light, seeing the disaster coming (I could not find the Norfolk entrance by eye and in any event, unless right front of me, I would not have been able to change course at that point), I had to start making some decisions.
I sadly found that I was the only idiot on the bay on this day. As the only possible escape I took resolution to head for the ocean, exposing the port beam to the ridiculous short and huge seas and without a mainsail!
After trying hard and being battered by the waves, without making any progress at all with the rocky coast just about 8 miles ahead of me, I had to do something and fast. That's when even my old engine could have been very useful once started, but in its place was now sitting a no-less-handy water tank instead...
There was not much else to left to do to save Pájaro from the situation I had gotten in when I resolved to call the 16 VHF channel for help. I got an immediate reply from the Ocean City Coast Guard Station which, after understanding my situation and getting my exact position, they sent a huge grey frigate my way. A bit worried for the new situation and not sure my economy could afford such a luxurious service, I hesitated about accepting such an effort from their side. I was really surprised when I enquired the cost of such a operation and I was informed that the operation of the U.S.C.G institution are under the US government and so operates on a free-of-charge basis in an event such as when life at sea is endangered!!... Boy, if not endangered, I did feel like an important human being at that moment!! In about 20 minutes I saw the frigate coming from the SE of the bay slowly, splashing spectacularly among crests.
In the meantime, onboard Pájaro I was taking each breaking wave as the last one, while trying to heave-to near a lee shore looking at us with a wide and wildly salivating opened wolf mouth!!!
When I made eye contact with the officers I found that the only visible part of their heads was their eyes. Covered in a sort of black and orange ultra-waterproof operation gear I could not help feeling a bit underdressed, barefooted with my cracked jeans, woolen cap and ugly cheap soaked polyester jacket with some remaining pieces of a plastic orange rain suit destroyed by the efforts here and there.
Once in position the frigate stern canyon shot a red ball attached by a thin yellow line which landed right on me. They signaled me to pull the string and by doing so I found at the end of it a hefty, especially elastic towing rope. Grabbing it meant that was not the end for Pájaro yet. Full of gratitude, and feeling a bit stupid for risking other people lives with my damn adventures, I made a bowline on the windlass with my hands shaking from cold and emotion.
After a tow that lasted almost an hour and a half at 5 knots we made entrance on what is known as Old Point Comfort, a U.S. Naval base for navy personnel. Once on the dock, after checking my papers, they warmly offered me to stay the time I needed to re-organize the mainsail problem and get my boat ready to resume my passage south.
In the naval base I met John Sprock, a young retired nuclear submarine engineer. He was refitting a very interesting ketch for extended cruising with his girlfriend on the same dock Pájaro was. From that moment he became a good friend and we chatted about many interesting things during our walks.
Leaving the Old Point Comfort naval base, I dropped the hook in Norfolk City anchorage for a touristy visit using my children size bicycle onboard, and trying to make contact with Tom after losing sight of "Mutiny" off the shore of Annapolis. After 3 days of waiting I decided to get on with my trip and find my way down the I.C.W. (which in my curiosity had only heard about).
The first week down the ICW was navigated by means of my 4 HP outboard almost entirely, motoring 8 hours, covering about 30 miles per day, and anchoring at night. Although the passage offered some beautiful views of natural National Parks I could not help feeling quite like a fish out of the water, sitting on the tiller the whole day motoring in the limited space the ICW provides at times. Like a motor boater overlooking the sailboat abilities. However, at the time there was some nasty weather to be found offshore due to passing fronts and the bitter taste of the last blow on the Bay hadn't yet left my mouth.
It was not until exiting the Cape Fear River that I was able to taste some ocean sailing for a change. Along with a friend, Mike, and his recently acquired Dutch-made steel sailboat "Ciel" which I met while at anchor in Beaufort, NC, we proceeded to the ocean with plans of sailing to Georgia and avoiding entering the ICW again. But after 24 hours of offshore passage and also enduring some calms, in which we motored onboard with Ciel while towing Pájaro at times, the weather had some naughty plans for us.
On the NOAA broadcast a special warning to mariners was beeping loud, announcing gale force winds up to 45 knots approaching the South Carolina coast for the night. With some lessons learned from the last Chesapeake blow, my reefing technique (still the roller) was just slightly perfected and the shape accomplished on the mainsail after rolling the boom, although not ideal, was OK for the task. At midnight the gale was piping like the Hell Marching Band. Ciel and Pájaro were trying to comfort each other on the radio from the big breaking and confused swell nightmare around us. In my calculations, unless we could resume a windward course immediately, not an easy task with my reefing system, it would be a matter of 6 hours before the gale would set us somewhere against the lee shore. Not again for the engineless Pájaro!!
About 4:00 am with the first beacon of the Georgetown channel on sight and with the radio announcing further gales for the new day, I made the bright decision to give it a try at entering the channel. My reasons were that, although sailing to a lee shore, it was our only opportunity of sailing downwind through a well-marked channel to a sure haven. Ciel on my stern with some logical apprehension regarding my move, reported seeing Pájaro disappearing under every wave, to see her cabin lights appear again up high in the swell. With the lights of the morning we did make our entrance safely after all, and with some extra help from Ciel’s diesel engine towing me, up to the city of Georgetown where we would find the rest we needed before proceeding down the ICW for the last time before reaching the state of Georgia.
After a few days in the ICW the next big stop was the big city of Charleston, SC were Ciel and Pájaro spent less than a week before resuming once more our way south. The rest of the trip was mostly motoring around marshes for hours at a time on the tiller, which I found quite tedious. However there where some moments, such as right after passing a ICW bridge, Ciel’s engine stopped suddenly and her skipper dropped the hook for a quick oil change. Meanwhile, Pájaro opened her wings on the channel to kill some time, sailing around in circles for the fun of it, just to run aground right on top of an uncharted sand bar the next minute.
I called Mike on the radio, who was down on his engine, and explained my new situation. He had to rush the oil filling, because with a falling tide, in just two minutes Pájaro was starting to tilt ten degrees to one side to our astonishment! With the powerful diesel finally started and a rope ready, Ciel pushed Pájaro out of the mud to deeper water, to my relief… pheww... that was close...
Leaving Charleston for the open sea with finally a great day of undisturbed sailing, we proudly entered the Savannah river with the tide pushing us up. Spending one more night at anchor between golden marshes we made our way down to the Brunswick Landing Marina, where I was enthusiastically received (with homemade cookies and all) by Mei and James who were expecting my arrival. Mike docked Ciel at the Brunswick marina and stayed there a month while James serviced his boat, installing a much-needed wind vane. Meanwhile, he received a visit of a delightful lady friend, and almost forgot of his ICW adventure partner, the mighty Pájaro!!! But he knows well that he has a lifetime friend in me, and I look forward to seeing him back sailing his Ciel someday.
With good friends keeping an eye on Pájaro, already on end of February, I returned to work for two months in exchange for freedom chips. That period gave me extra time to dream and plan well the next adventure for me and the mighty Pájaro... crossing a full ocean home.
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Yorktown, Virginia to New York City (Summer, 2005)
Itinerary:
- Yorktown River (Virginia)
- Little Wicomico River
- Redville
- Solomons Island
- Annapolis, MD
- Baltimore, MD
- Chesapeake City (C&D Canal)
- Salem, NJ
- Cape May Harbour
- Atlantic City
- Barnegat Inlet
- Manasquan Inlet
- Sandy Hook (Raritan Bay)
- Hudson River (NY)
The Chesapeake
The very first shake down for us, right after I purchased Pájaro (then named Hummingbird), and after a farewell from our new made friends in Virginia, was a passage to N.Y.C. from VA ,crossing the entire Chesapeake Bay then down the Delaware Bay and up the Atlantic coast to the Big Apple. For Teresa being a dancer and myself a guitarist, this was an interesting opportunity to see some concerts and attend dance lessons in this unique city. The trip was an adventure in itself. Although not very impressed at first with the brackish colored waters filled with agressive jellyfishes, there were a handful of moments that will stay forever in my human memory.
The first night after sailing all day on the lower part of the bay, we anchored on the Little Wicomico River right before sunset. Just ten minutes after the anchor was set, a subtle wind began to roll furiously while the sky became filled with heavy purple rotating counter-clockwise at a vertiginous speed. With a sorrounding coast looking at us like dinner, I got my hands to work on dropping a second anchor from my stern.With me going up and down the boat and with Hummingbird rolling like a rodeo horse, Teresa decided to start laughing at me non-stop. She has a very old soul,that's to say that she's scared of practicly nothing.
This NW cold front passing our heads lasted just ten minutes and, although violent ,was a natural display of beauty. I learned that in this East coast weather conditions can change with the blink of an eye. I didn't miss a NOAA weather VHF report since then. The next morning we had the chance to really enjoy the view of the beautiful sorroundings.
We sailed out smoothly and had a nice breeze for about 8 hours until the wind died and I decided to motor straight to the nearby inlet of Redville. A singular place it was. We happened to be the only human beings there (and nothing wrong with that!). A strong toasted herring smell could be felt for the whole night from a processing factory right in front of our anchorage. We inflated our toy dinghy (a present from Doug Truston in the Virginian Marina I bought Pájaro) and went ashore to explore the sorroundings away from the fish crematory. We found a bar where Teresa made a phone call to her mum in Spain. Because of the intense hot weather I bought a couple of beers, although I don't consider myself a beer drinker. At least they were cold. We went back to the boat and had our own party, with guitar and all. The rest of the night was quiet, except for our bothered noses.
We headed to tha bay again in the morning, making a landfall at night by Solomon's Island super-crowded resorts after having a good breeze pushing us during the day. I decided then to optimize my boom reefing lines.
Annapolis was to be our next stop on the way, but because of the lack of consistent wind and some "Universal" engine troubles, it was impossible to make a landfall by night. I decided to anchor on a piece of coast just 3 miles off East River .Sleeping was impossible because we were fully exposed to the swell. But it would have been suicidal to approach an unknown port by night. With the first light of the morning and with my engine on vacation, I used the breeze and made entrance to the Annapolis anchorage area by sail only. I spent the whole morning sleeping. We used the next two days to get to know this charming city. Even enjoyed a Navy big band concert on the park. From Annapolis we sailed straight to Baltimore, arriving just before sunset under a truly spectacular storm. Fell Point has a free of charge anchorage area with a dinghy dock nearby. We explored the city and it was then that Teresa found out for her first time that Dunkin Donuts are irresistible. I had to work on convincing her of the bad side of the fast food industry. But even so, she probably has some addiction to donuts to date. I was totally thrilled with the open access to classical guitar chart collection at the Baltimore Public Library that one can print free of charge. After this port we felt ready to leave the Chesapeake Bay behind us by means of the C&D canal, but we anchored for the last time on the Elk River where we swam for hours before the sunset. (Although brackish, no jellyfishes could be found.) We came form pristine waters in the Mediterranean (I was born in Mallorca) and Teresa is used to the cold clean open waters of the Canary Islands were she's from. This explains our lack of adaptability to the Bay waters.
If you are snoring by now, let me finish by saying that the rest of the itinerary had some interesting stops in Salem,NJ (where we made some truly good friends), Cape May Harbour, Atlantic City, where we got some laughs at the casinos' flamboyant appearance and had some fun at the amusement park on the boardwalk. But nothing beats the morning leaving Cape May and meeting his Majesty Ocean Atlantic in all his splendour with a welcoming visit by a group of friendly dolphins crossing our bow several times.That wouldn't be the last visit from them. Teresa was jumping out of her shoes (although, she had no shoes...).
Manhattan
We departed Sandy Hook by 5:30 am with a favourable 10 to 15 knot wind and current pushing us over the surface of the planet for an average of 8 knots.In just a few hours we where already sailing among gigantic cargo ships anchored in the N.Y.C. port and taking shots of the majestic Liberty Statue and the tall skyscrapers of lower Manhattan.
Naively,following a very old (1999 edition) of a piloting book, my plan was to anchor on an area marked as anchorage on the Hudson River. However, things had changed a bit since 9/11 and I just found moorings on the 79th St. N.Y. Public Marina for 30$ a day. Because of our low budget I immediately started my research around and Greg, the officer of the marina, generously made a phone call to a marina on upper Manhattan, just past the George Washington Bridge, where we were able to anchor for free for almost one month. (That sounded much better to me.) We had access to the subway system, so we were finally able to enjoy all that the city had to offer us.
Most of all we'll never forget the hospitality we found every place we visit. The next passage was a singlehandled one (since Teresa had to finally return to Spain) back to Salem,NJ via the Atlantic coast down to Cape May and up the Delaware Bay, where I hauled out Pájaro for the winter, and went back to work as a musician for some months. That way I saved some funds for the upcoming major refits I had in mind for the boat. (See Boat section.)
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