Mallorca To Almerimar

Mallorca to Ibiza

The sun hides behind a marbled wall of streaky grey, and yet beneath it the clouds gleam golden and bright in the early evening light. These shapes, possible homes of impossible angels, look false, painted. In front of this beautiful backdrop glide great grey submarines of cloud. Line after line of these menacing forms sit between us and the glory beyond. Closer to the horizon the sky is clear, though lost is the brilliant blue that remains over our heads. This hazy space seems subtly shaded the palest of blues, tinted by the sun it looks almost green.

And now, later, the submarines have marched past and the sun shines free of its marble prison. The tip of every cloud shines a radiant gold, even the clear sky is a brilliant yellow and the sea is vividly gild.

Here away from the heavens the day is peaceful. We sail gently but happily in the healthy breeze. Michael helms, the wind blowing his short hair, a squint in his eyes. His soft features seem content and relaxed. A sound from below announces George as he potters around, coming on deck he is well tanned and healthy looking. He wears his sunglasses balanced on his head, now pulling them down to cover his eyes, then up again, unable to settle. His small mouth, defined by a closely trimmed moustache and beard, is also restless changing from a smile to a frown pausing neutrally for some time. A grimace passes at some thought then he too assumes a contented comfortable expression.

The wind falling away as the evening progresses forces us to motor and the peace is broken. These moments are for me one of the greatest charms of sailing, a time when free from distraction, I am free to watch an ever changing world. On land there is always a task to do, a place to go, here at sea there is so much more stillness, so much more time.

Sunset that night was subtle but beautiful, complex layers of cloud, in shapes to innumerable to describe glowing pink then deep, rich red like embers in a fire. Slowly the fire left them and they turned ashen grey, yielding to the moon rising. Slender and yellow it cast its reflection on the still water, clouds catching it’s light dispersing it, hiding it briefly only to reveal it again. By the time we could see land again the stars were out, scattered like dust across the sky, the great band of the Milky Way glittering gently. We anchored shortly before ten o’clock, the sky was dark but for the moon and the stars. After dinner we slept soundly, cured of my harbour rot a smile played on my face as I drifted off to sleep.

Ibiza To Spain

The next day was quite spectacularly uneventful. We motored slowly round Ibiza, which on its northern coast far enough out from the coast not to see the people is really rather nice. Big white cliffs topped with old fortifications, pleasant bays and bright sunshine. I sat on the foredeck and played guitar happily, working on a few new tunes, one that I started when the morning I left Edinburgh is now a most satisfying piece of rhythmic classical guitar with hints of Explosions in the Sky. The other a piece of simple oom-pa type finger picking is just sort of fun. Oh and I’ve been playing the Guillemots – “Made up love song #43” which is just super nice. After three hours we stopped for lunch in a very small bay, it was maybe seventy feet in diameter and practically circular, as Blue Sky is 49 feet long it was very cosy. Really pretty though, we went snorkelling which I’ve never done before. It was most fun watching all the fish swimming around, flashing in the rays of sunshine. At which point I got stung by a jellyfish, despite the fact that he was only about four inches from end to end he left a fantastic red welt across my arm which four days later is still present. It was so painful, and so shocking that I got a little freaked, had a bit of a panic in the water for a minute of two involving much splashing and shrieking. Then I calmed down and got out of the water. Interesting.

That night we anchored in a remote bay on a small island west of Ibiza, I sat up late after George Michael had gone to bed. I sat on deck, drank whisky, listened to John Coltrane and watched the beams of a lighthouse sweeping across the sky.

The passage from Ibiza to the Spanish mainland was brilliant. A very fine reach in wind which increased from a 2 to a 5 over the course of the day was just brilliant. Towards the end, when George had stopped smiling and Michael was arranging for shelter I got a bit manic. It is a powerful feeling to stand at the wheel of a big boat, well heeled in a stiff breeze. I stood and sang loudly, rejoicing in the spray, fighting with the weather helm. I chortled loudly as a particularly big gust threw open a locker in the galley showering the saloon in plates and mugs. It was exciting sailing, safe and sensible but very fun, and it was beautiful. The sea was fairly flat and the water glistened and sparkled in the sunshine, birds flew with perfect control though the waves, pausing occasionally to investigate something in the water. The approaching shapes of Spain were layered mountains and rocks, behind each hill was another bigger one lost slightly more in the haze.

The next morning we had a proper early start heading south and west, hoping to get to Almerimar before the forecast levanter (strong westerly wind) blew up and made life difficult. There was however no wind at all, so we motored, it is 187 miles from where we were anchored to Almerimar, so we motored for thirty three hours non-stop. It wasn’t the most exciting passage ever. However I did see the most beautiful sunset yet, a massive sky alive with red fire. And we had company in the form of a dolphin playing across our bows for ten minutes, a whale appearing briefly off the port beam. Fishing was also successful including the landing of three small red tuna which made an excellent dinner and a particularly beautiful fish called a girelle (French name). It was long and slender and bright, brilliant green, with a fantastic fin running down it’s back and nicely curved tail. George has yet to decide how to cook it, though it may become lunch today. I took the dog watch that night, which runs from three to six in the morning. It is often the worst watch, though I enjoyed it mostly, the stars were amazing, Orion was the brightest I have seen him for a long time and it was nice to slowly watch him rise into the sky. The night was warm and I kept sleep at bay with mars bars, cocoa and danceable indie fun from my MP3 player.

Now we are in Almerimar as planned, by Friday we should be in Gibraltar where we will get more crew. Little Barney – an eighteen year old gap year kid, who hopes to come with us across the Atlantic and Alex – Michael’s nephew. So we shall have to wait and see what they are like.