We caught some fish, but I have been sworn to secrecy about how big they were, I did manage to get one home in the car, and just to give you a clue, the cat ate it in 18 seconds flat, but we had a fantastic day.
Well I got the train booked no hiccups this time, and I had e-mailed ahead to let Bernardo know when I was arriving as he had my boat keys.
While at home, I had re-made my canvas bucket, which was donkey's years old, and the metal ring at the top was going rusty. I thought wouldn't it be good to get one made in stainless steel, so off I went to the local fabricators in Carcassonne. We picked our bit of rod in 8mm and agreed the job. This was a big factory, and when I asked when it would be ready, he said 8am Monday morning. I asked how much, but he did not have a clue. No problem, it wouldn't be much. On the due date, I returned to the big factory, and a different man came to see what I wanted. I told him and he said, "ahhhhhh, we cannot do this for two weeks because the man who does this work is not here!!!!!" We thanked him, took our piece of steel (the pattern), and left. "I SAY THAT'S LIFE", and that is just what it's like, here, and in Spain, I will say no more or I could be in big trouble. FRUSTRATING!!! AHHHHH!! THAT'S THE WORD!
The old boy in this boat went out in the morning, got caught out with a lot of wind then came back with tail between legs, and sails they were a flappin'. He went straight to his pontoon with 20 knots of wind, parked it, and then sorted it. Don't know if he did any damage though.
Time to go back to the boat so....
I had got Jackie to help me get the train booked online ('cos she is good at that sort of thing!), but for some reason or other, she could not get me a tourist sleeper, only what they call a grand butaco, or something like that. Anyway, it was the same price, 53 euros from Barcelona to Puerto Santa Maria, which is just outside Cadiz. As it happens, the seat is a large chair that reclines and does all sorts, even plays music, but none that I recognized. It is also not very comfortable. I suppose the reason they do it, is to cram more people in during the holiday season because the train was packed. The journey from Carcassonne to Barcelona went without hitch, and my night train left at 10 pm and arrived without incident at 10 am the next morning, which was the Tuesday. I got a cab from the station and in the already sweltering heat, started to get the covers off and settle in. Simo was just as I had left her, and had not taken in a drop of water, which also told me that it had not rained since I left a month ago. I made a shopping list and walked to the supermercado, which was about two miles away.
IS THIS ME AND MY TROLLEY
I took my orange trolley and got loads of food, enough that it filled my trolley and more. This should last me a month, I thought, especially now I was going to have a real good crack at fishing. I got the lady at the bread counter to call me a cab, and then back on board got everything in place. I had even got two bags of ice to keep the drinks cool. Next job was to get a new gaz bottle, recharge my Spanish mobile and top up my Vodaphone dongle that would allow me to browse the weather and Skype out now and again. The temperature by 4pm must have been way over 30 degrees, but down in the cabin it remained nice and cool, thanks to the wind chute over the forward hatch. At about 5pm, I decided to head off and get the jobs done so I would be ready to depart first thing in the morning. Bernado came down to see me and said (I think) that he was heading off towards the Rio Guardiana in the morning. Great, I thought, we can sail in company. When I woke in the morning, Bernardo was long gone.
I eventually set off at about 11 am, after first getting another couple of bags of ice for the coolbox. I had decided to go to Mazzagon, and anchor in the mouth of the huge river that goes up to the town of Huelva. The wind started off light from the north west, and I had to motor sail for a couple of hours, but then it filled in, and backed a shade, to give me a fantastic three sail fetch, virtually all the way. The total distance was about 48 miles.
SPANKING ALONG AT OVER 5 KNOTS. DONT YOU JUST LOVE IT!
SUN SETTING ON MY APPROACH TO MAZAGON
After the last hour or so with the engine, I arrived a shade after 10 pm, and anchored out of the fairway in about 20 feet of water. After a quick cuppa and a snacky sandwich, I was in my bunk and fast asleep. I woke up a few times in the night as the wash from some big ships rocked me about a bit, but finally, at 9am on the Thursday I was up, had my weetabix, and was ready to go. I had looked at the pilot book, and what was suggested as one of the prettiest anchorages on this coast, was El Rompido. It was only about twelve miles away, and the pilot also mentioned a very old boatyard run by a man called Wolfgang Michalsky, who it says, can have any kind of work put in hand. It conjured up in my mind a genius of a man, to whom nothing would be too much trouble. A chance perhaps, to get my electric raymarine autopilot repaired, which had seemingly packed up since I was last on board.
I left the river mouth, and headed for my destination. I had been also warned by the pilot book, that the entrance was tricky, and that you had to negotiate a sand bar that regularly shifts, and at low water, has less than a meter. It was all marked by buoys, so no problem, I would go in at about high water.
When I arrived, the leading red buoy was nowhere like where it showed on the chart plotter, with, I hasten to add, this years charts, and also the place was mobbed by fishing boats, large and small. Out with the binoculars, and after closing the shore and watching the soundings, I eventually saw the leading mark. To be honest, it was so far from where I thought it would be, I distrusted it. Nonetheless, I closed at slow speed, and then I saw two more buoys, a green and a red. At that moment, I also saw a big 40 foot power boat going at full tilt around in an arc where the channel must lay. I headed for the first marker, probably about 50 yards away, and looked unbelievingly as this power boat headed straight at me. It passed not twenty yards away, still going at full tilt, the driver on the flying bridge not even looking at me as I shouted expletives and waited a few seconds for the waves to hit me. The first one, O.K., but the second came clean over Simo, and we were all a bit wet. Unfortunately, this was a sign of things to come, but more of that later.
My first obstacle was this sand bar. I passed the first big buoy, a red one and headed for the next two, a red and a green, fairly close together. I had already spotted the next pair, as my echo sounder went down to 6 feet. "My goodness, this can't be right. It’s high water. I held my nerve and continued on. I was glad the sun was behind me, and as I got closer to the beach, I could see where the tide line was for the deep water, and gradually the buoys opened u,p and it all became clear which way to go.
I continued up the river, or cut, and looked for a suitable place to anchor. Funnily enough, there seemed to be a good spot, just out from the fuel dock, so I let go the hook in about 20 feet of water.
I decided to pump up the dinghy, and venture ashore, firstly, to see if I could get the autopilot working, and secondly to replenish my coolbox with ice to chill down the drinks. I had no luck with the autopilot, but did get some ice and bananas from a little back street shop, so I was well contented.
The sunset was fantastic, and the the next morning, after some weetabix and a couple of mugs of tea, I soon realised that all the motor boats that fill up with fuel, leave the dock at maximum speed, and don't really care about how much wash they give you. Getting increasingly uncomfortable and frustrated by the this, I decided to leave on the lunchtime high tide, and head up towards AYAMONTE, which is at the border between Spain and Portugal.
I motor sailed the 15 odd miles in a freshening breeze, and by the time I got to the fairway buoy, it was a fresh force 6, and really nice to bear away on to a broad reach. Once inside, I found a nice little spot to drop the hook, close to a sand bar, and it looked like my own desert island. I prepped dinner, and poured myself a can of the old John Smiths SMOOOOOOOOTH, and my day was done. Next time, we shall explore the wonderful river.
Until next time,
BE GOOD.
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