AYAMONTE AND THE GUADIANA RIVER

Thursday 2nd July, and I was anchored off a sand spit, just inside the breakwaters that are the entrance to the Guadiana, about a mile downstream of Ayamonte. It was a lovely day and I had arrived here the previous evening at about 5.30 pm from El Rompido. The tide was strong, in fact, it was coming up to full moon and spring tides, and there was a twenty knot south westerly blowing that was keeping me nice and cool. I got the dingy pumped up and launched because I wanted to explore the dunes. I had seen people walking, some with dogs, and although I could see no houses or habitation, it must be linked somehow. Was I interested ? I don’t think so. I rowed ashore and walked a bit. There were lots of shells and lots of small live crabs darting here and there just at the waters edge. I walked around bare foot, and there were the remains of where people have had a barbi. It felt like my own desert island, and I had a good look around but still saw no sign of life, so rowed back to Simo, put the kettle on and worked out my next move. I decided to stay there another night, it was free and I loved it. The next day I needed to get some diesel, as I was running on fresh air and top up with water, then I was set to go up the river. It was about 25 kilometres to get up to San Luca de Guadiana, on the Spanish side and on the Portuguese side, the village is called Alcoutim, So I had a lazy day by the sand spit. In the evening, some guys came and fished off the beach, but I didn’t see them catch anything, and then in the morning, I upped the hook and motored to Ayamonte. I found myself a free finger berth, as I could not find the fuel dock and parked. Just after I got settled, a Swedish yacht came in and went on the pontoon next to me, there were four guys and they all seemed pretty friendly. They very soon got into their running gear and were intending to go off for a run. Just before they went, I asked one of the guys, Thomas, if he knew how to operate a multimeter, he said he did, and asked "What’s the problem?". I told him my autopilot was giving me trouble and he said he would take a look when they had finished the run.

I decide to go up to the office to enquire where the fuel dock was, and was politely told they didn’t have fuel, and if I wanted some, I had to go back across the river to Vila Real De San Antonio. I made a quick decision that I would stay the night and go over in the morning, but just to be sure, would take a couple of 5 litre cans to the local garage and then I would be certain. The price for one night was just under 14 euros, but water and electric were extra. There were three girls in the office, and when the first one asked me how long my boat was, I told her 7.6 meters. She then went on to serve somebody else, and a tall, self assured girl came over to deal with me. Maybe they don’t smile in Ayamonte. She took my registration document and then proceeded to tell me my boat was not 6 metres at all, but 7.6! I started to explain that I had never said it was 6 metres, but she hushed me a few times as if to say I was lying! Out of all three girls, not one told me where the showers were, not one told me I needed a card for the gate, and not one produced a map of the town until I physically asked for it. All they wanted to do, was get rid of the customers who pay their wages so they could get back to their personal chit chat again. I had reason to return to the office later, with a query, and the girl I think, asked the manager to deal with me. I must say he couldn’t have been more helpful. Gripe over.

Back on the boat, the lads had come back from their run, and out came the multi metre. Nicholas spent a good hour sorting out my problem, he is one of those patient men who won’t settle until every stone has been turned to sort out the problem. Lo and behold, I now have a working auto pilot for those motoring days or nights. The lads were off to Greece, and I wished them fair sailing and then took my two cans to the nearest garage and said "fill 'em up". Was I thinking of something else when he said "GASOLINA?". I will never know. The trudge back to the boat was hot and sweaty, and I got the funnel out and unscrewed the filler cap. Then, an amazing thing happened. As I started to pour it in, it all blew back in my face and all over the cockpit seats. I stopped straightaway as I could smell it was petrol, and not GASOIL! I should think that less than a cupful went in, and I realised that SIMO had, once again, saved my skin by ejecting the gasolina.

I met up with Bernardo, his wife and the Vancouver 27, and I told them i was going up river the next day but he seemed uncommitted. Anyway, the next morning it was an early start, about 11am, with a quick trip over to Portugal to get filled up with GASOIL, and a couple of bags of ice, and then I was on my way up river.











It was quite a windy day, and as the wind was coming from the north, we had a wind over tide situation that made it rather choppy at the begining. The river is beautiful, and there are a number of properties on the banks to die for. Little old fincas and suchlike, and a lot had their own moorings and makeshift jetties. Finally, after about three and half hours, we made our destination and just as the tide was turning, dropped the anchor. There seemed to be a bit of debris around in the water, old bamboo shoots and stuff like that. There were all sorts of boats anchored and some on the purposebuilt docks on both sides of the river.








I chilled out for the rest of the afternoon and at about 6 pm I got some visitors. Three little ducks came by. I was eating crisps at the time, and they shared, but I soon went below and found some bread for them. It was stale, but I eat it, so I am sure they didn't mind. After that, they came back every night, and they must have told a mate of theirs, because he came too.




I had a special treat for myself, and I did not share it with the ducks, or anybody else for that matter.



Later that evening I got another visitor. He rowed over to me from his boat and came aboard. The time was about 9 pm, and it was still light. His name was Robert and after some wine from the 5 litre box and a few cups of tea, he stayed until close on 3.00 am. Robert had been, and still is, an adventurer. He has a little finca down river a tad, and comes up with his boat now and again to get the free wi-fi from the local library on the Portugues side. The next day I put up my big reapeatit aerial, and enjoyed skyping Jackie, all for free. Robert ans I talked about all sorts but something was beginning to gel in my head, here was a place that I could stay for free and not have to pay exorbitant marina fees. He also suggested that for a few euros, somebody could look after the boat while I was away. Yeeeeesssssss.
I went ashore the next day, and started to explore, and what I saw, I liked more and more.









After a couple of days, I went with Robert, walking along a cactus filled track to a friend of his called Robin, who he assured me would keep his eye on my boat while i went back to France for a couple of weeks. When we got there, Robin and his wife and two kids had gone off on holiday in their little open boat. They had left the house open, with all the pets and the chickens running around. Robert said that another friend would be putting the chickens away and the pets to bed every night until they came back in about two weeks time, so I would have to wait to sort out the details, but it would be no problem.

The next day, Robert had to fly back to the UK to do a bit of work, and I said that I would give him a lift down the river to Vila Real, so that he could then take a bus to Faro airport. I was to meet him downriver a little bit, at his friends, Christian and Polly's place. He would look out for me on the river bank, and tell me where to anchor. All went well, and I rowed ashore to the little jetty, to be greeted by the family, and Robert, who was cooking for everybody. Christian and Polly and their two kids were checking out one of their veggie patches, which was over near the sheep compound. My first reaction was what a fantastic couple, and what a fantastic place. Not much in the way of water and electricity and certainly no telly, but what a lifestyle.



They had just, that evening, come back from a little sailing holiday, and their yacht lay peacfully on the mooring, just off the jetty. The meal was great, and we had a drop of wine, then it was off to bed and to sleep soundly. I was warned about any snoring from Christian, and he also told me to take some tomatoes from the garden for our trip the following day. At least my boat was downwind, so he would not hear the snoring. In the morning, no complaints, Robert jumped aboard, and off we went downriver, whilst he proceeded to cook a great fried brekkie, albeit no bacon.

We arrived at Vila Real, I dropped him off and then went over to the Spanish side to anchor for the night.



Listen, I've gotta go now, my next stop is Tavira. Look it up on Google Earth. By what I have been told, it is like the Walton Backwaters.

Have fun,
back soon,

Mickey Boy

END OF JUNE AND EARLY JULY

I had been home in France for nearly four weeks, and it was time to turn my attention to returning to Cadiz and get sailing again. I have had a fabulous time and caught up with lots of people including cousins and their sons and daughters, who came to stay in a house not too far from where we live in France. I have been fishing with a pro, my mate Les, and eaten too much, and probably not drunk enough.



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.

GIBRALTAR TO CADIZ

I had been in the anchorage at La Linear for a few days, and not actually checked in to Gibraltar. It had been great in the anchorage, always a nice breeze, and I'd just generally chilled out. I had started to look at the weather forecast for the next few days as I wanted to go through the straights and get up to Cadiz, and then sort out what I was going to do. The fact of the matter was, that I was way behind my schedule and my original plan was to spend at least a bit of the summer with Jackie at our house in France, and we had spoken about June being the Month.

As you all know, the object of this trip was to go to Madeira, but with the weather I have had, and one or two of the experiences, well it has dampened my enthusiasm for the whole thing, and probably, if I'm truthful I don't think it is going to happen. So SORRY, in big letters, if it has disappointed anybody, and if you don't want to receive the blog anymore, just let me know. But, for all the people who want to still follow my adventures, I will still be going places but not entirely sure where.

Anyway, back to the plot of getting from Gib to Cadiz. While I had been in the anchorage, the wind had been blowing from the west, and I wanted to go that way. The thing is, with the straights, the wind either blows from the east or the west for 95% of the time. The weather was looking to change by Tuesday night, and was then going to build up to very strong for a few days. I thought the best thing would be to leave first thing Tuesday morning, when the wind had eased away, ready for the new breeze to start on Tuesday evening. The window of opportunity was not that great because, according to the weather forecast, it would be from nothing to force 8 in the space of twelve hours. "and Micky boy ain't so keen on them force eights" I've got a mate who loves them, but he is older now has a massive beard and lives up in Suffolk somewhere.

I got it all sorted, and at 7am was hauling up the anchor. There was hardly a breath of wind, and I knew it would take me at least an hour to motor sail across Gibraltar Bay to Punta Carnero, where I would turn right a bit, and head down to Tarifa, "the windsurfing capital of Europe, cos it's always windy". A few cups of tea later, we were rounding the point, a little bit of misty fog stuff was rolling around but nothing to worry about, a bit of swell, but hardly any any wind. This suited me fine, the only problem was, I didn't really know the upshot of high water and the tidal streams and flows. What I was lacking was the info, and it is all in a little book called THE STRAITS HANDBOOK by a guy called Colin and another called Peter. Never mind, I will just bash on, and keep close inshore and I will surely miss the worst current if it is against me. In my planning, I had thought about averaging about 4.5 knots, and the total distance was about 85 miles. O.K., an average at 4.5 knots makes it just short of 19 hours, so in 11 hours, I should be abeam of Cabo Trafalgar, 45 miles away at about 6pm and still daylight. To say the trip was uneventful would be a true appraisal, going down the stretch to Tarifa, for the most part we were motoring, and were covering the ground at six to seven knots. When we got to Tarifa the sea was like glass, absolutely not a breath of wind. Now let me tell you, Tarifa has a very high suicide rate, and it is all because of the wind. It is always blowing force six or seven from the East or the West, and to have it calm, is almost unheard of.

I went round Tarifa, and started heading north west towards Trafalgar, feeling quite pleased with myself, and started to get some lunch on the go, Whilst I was down below, I threw the GPS a quick glance, and was horrified to see we were only cracking on at 2.7 knots, what a difference, but at least I knew that at some stage the breeze was going to fill in from the east, or south east, and would be behind me. The weather was fantastic and I really did not mind the engine being on. I read a little and watched the world go past. It really was fantastic. A couple of hours later, I checked the GPS again, and we were still only making 2.7, maybe 2.8 over the ground, but our true speed was just a tad under five knots. I decided to head out a little, not really knowing what I was doing, but it made no difference. I decided to look out for some kind of buoy, or marker so that I could see for myself the amount of stream against me. By now, it was late in the afternoon and I was starting to think about how long it would be before we got to Cadiz, and would the strong breeze catch up with me before I got to shelter. I eventually came to some pot markers, and whilst being careful, went as close as I dared, to look at the flow on them, and to be honest, it looked like a four to five knot ebb on the Medway. In true terms, it was at least two and a half knots against me, and I had had it for the last six hours or so. I reasoned the it should start to ease off, but in reality, I was not holding my breath. It seemed to take forever to get round Cabo Trafalgar, and because of the shallows, I also had to go out further. As I came abeam, the sea got a lot lumpier. I was still under engine, as there was still no wind, and now the bows were starting to dig in, pick up huge amounts of green water and throw it along the side decks, and at times my autopilot was under water. It was frustrating because our speed would fall to under a knot, and take a bit of time to get going before the same fate fell again. I think I learned a few new swear words as I tried to get some dinner ready and prepare for darkness. All around this area there are shallows, fish keeps, tunny nets, and other hazards. The large swell was coming from the west, and was getting worse instead of better, it did not make sense. I decided to go out a lot further to get into some deeper water, and I have to say that just as the sun was setting, it did seem to calm down. The sunset was great, but our progress was still slow with at least two knots against me. Earlier, just before it got dark, a lot of big fishing boats came past and all waved heartily at me, most were towing a little dinghy that I believe they use for fishing as well. I watched them all go off into the distance and over the horizon. By midnight, I could see the lights of Cadiz and realized that I should be in by 3 am. I knew a nice little anchorage, right outside Puerto Sherry, and decided to drop the hook till the morning. The whole trip had been done under engine, and it was no strain at all. I was a little tired, but now had to be alert to follow the channel round and into the anchorage as there are one or two isolated dangers like great big rocks! I was relieved to get the trip finished and crawl into my nice little bunk. The time was 3.30am on Wednesday 27th May.



I awoke around 10 am, and was quite surprised that there was a lot of wind about. After putting on the kettle, I decided to go up top and take a look. It was quite windy, but I was about 100 yards from the breakwater, the direction where the wind was coming from, so I was nice and protected from the waves. I had my tea and then some shredded wheat, and then got my windo meter out to see what it was blowing cos it felt quite strong. It was an average of 22 knots with a couple of gusts at 27 knots. I decided to furl the main properly, and put the cover on it, and thought that I would wait for the wind to drop and then go into the marina. It didn't drop for three days, just got stronger and stronger until I felt it necessary to get my 40lb LUKE Fisherman's anchor out of the bilge, and rig it as a standby, just in case. Each piece of the anchor(it has three bits) weighs a lot, and they are a struggle to get on deck without messing up the varnish. Then I have 20 metres of chain and another 60 metres of rope warp to add on. The chain is the worst, as you have to very carefully drag it round the deck, without touching the varnish. I just touched a couple of places, but not too serious, and got the whole thing rigged and ready to throw, should the main anchor fail for any reason. I also got out, what is called an ANGEL. This is a very heavy weight that you can attach to the chain of the anchor, then let more chain out, and the angel will help to keep the chain on the seabed and stop it jerking the anchor out in strong winds or waves. I attached this to the main anchor and also a short length of 12 mm rope, so that the chain would not keep grouching on the bob stay.



I folded up and bagged the staysail, and set to washing all the salt off the varnished bits, and wiping them dry. Salt and sun combine to give your varnish a short life, so whenever I finish a trip, I always wash off with a hose, or by hand to keep it looking good. Over the next two or three days I had some real wind, and even though I was only one hundred yards from the breakwater, I was getting a lot of salt spay on the boat, and she was shearing from one side to the other like a half ton plastic fiberglass yacht. Simo weighs 5 tons plus me, of course, and I have never seen her shearing like that before. I think the Fisherman's anchor has been with Simo since the outset in 1961, because in the 60's down Portugal and Spain, there weren't many marinas, and the guys who owned the yachts had to anchor off most of the time, so something like a 40lb Luke, was a great insurance policy.

While anchored, I found lots of little jobs to do. It was far too windy to even think about pumping up the Avon and going ashore, and so I just did the jobs, read a lot, and slept. You can normally see the wind drop off a bit in the evenings, but it didn't, in fact on the Thursday night, it got stronger.

On Saturday morning the sun came up as normal, but there had been a definite change in the wind. It was only blowing 20 knots, and as soon as I had had some brekkie and a mug of tea, it was noticeble that the wind was dying away. Time to make my move into the marina. I got the ropes and fenders out and sorted, put the engine on, and went forward to get the anchor up, it came out pretty easy, and I just left it on the bow roller. I had had word from Jackie that my old friend Bernardo had seen me at anchor, and would come down to the dock as soon as I came in. I moored alongside the waiting pontoon and took my documents to the harbour master's round tower. I had by now decided that I was going to go back to France and spend some time with Jackie, and that would be for the whole of June. The office staff were nice and very friendly, and I asked if they had a berth for the whole of June for a 7.86 metre yacht. "No problem" was the reply, "how do you want to pay?" I said "credit card please." The response was "O.K., that will be 456 EUROS please."!!! I was stunned, we had stayed there before, and it had been reasonably priced. I paid up and went back to the boat and prepared to move to the dock I had been allocated.

Once tied up, it was not long before my old friend, Bernardo turned up, and we exchanged greetings. At this point, you have to know, that Bernardo does not speak English, and I don't speak a word of Spanish! The last time we met up, I had Jackie with me and she spoke some "good enough to get by spanish", so it was all sign language and phrase books, but we got on well. Bernardo has a Vancouver 27, and it is in impeccable condition. The thing is, he loves my Vertue. So much so, that he is getting a professional chippy to redo his interior, very similar to my Vertue.

Bernardo helped a lot by running me up to town, etc. etc., and although it was Saturday, I decided to take the ferry to Cadiz, to book my train ticket home to France. The cost from Cadiz to Barcelona overnight in a nice cozy bed was 53 euros, and then another 36 euros to get me to France. I had wanted to go on the Monday but it was fully booked, so I got a ticket for the Tuesday.



I wiled away the three days quite easily, and had my first encounters with the mozzy army(mosquitos), so had to put up all the defences each night. Luckily, I remained uneaten. I cleaned the boat from head to stern on Monday, and late in the afternoon on Tuesday, got the covers on, doubled up the lines and prepared to leave Simo for a MONTH, and enjoy some time in France. I had made myself the customary BLT sandwiches and a big bottle of orange squash, and got the taxi to the station for the 1930 Barcelona "tren hotel".



I AM NOW HOME FOR MOST OF JUNE, AND INTEND TO GO BACK TO THE BOAT ON THE 29TH JUNE.

Don't know what I will do yet, or where i will go, but one thing is for sure, I am determined to crack the fishing malarky with my teasers and exciters, and show Deano just what I am made of.