Leaving

I could´'t really sleep last night. I had that sort of daft childish excitement you get used to get on christmas eve because we are leaving tomorrow (hopefully). Finally this is the culmination of plan that has existed in my head for about three years. It doesn't really feel real that tomorrow when we cast off the warps and watch Tenerife disappear behind us we wont see land again for three weeks. For most of the tiem the nearest land with be five miles away. Downwards.

We managed to completely fill a taxi with supplies today, and we'll probably go get more tomorrow morning. We have to fill the water tanks, tidy, clean, and go.

Superb

Santa Cruz and Santa Cruz

Today it is a lovely day in Santa Cruz, we arrived here yesterday from Santa Cruz. Santa Cruz is not a nice place, but Santa Cruz is lovely.

The Canaries are covered in Santa Cruz's. We were at Santa Cruz de La Palma, now we are at Santa Cruz de Tenerife. I was wholly non-plussed by La Palma, it was dirty and dry and dead. Tenerife is alive with exciting things, art, architecture, cafe's, people and the Queen of Spain.

We had a great sail here, i sat up on the dog watch as we beat up wind into the teeth of a strong force five. At half past four in the morning i was sat in the wind, slightly damp from spray, not jacket on reciting Shakespear and cackling maniacally. I do that alot.

We are here for new crew to arrive, Ruud and Barney/Baz/Arthur (depending on what we call him to avoid confusion with the current Barnie). Then when the weather looks good, and the ship is ready we'll head out for the big blue. Hopefully reaching Antiga sometime between the 10th and the 20th. But that really depends on the wind obviously.

I intend to write another post before we leave Europe. But if i fail our passage across the Atlantic can be followed on Blue Sky's ships blog: http://blog.mailasail.com/bluesky/blog/. Then i'll write something new in the sunshine of the Carribean, while drinking rum. And cackling maniacally. B

Madeira

From my seat in the back of the car I had watched the walls of rock and plants for twenty minutes as we climbed up into the hills. Upon rounding the corner a great vista swung into view and I actually, involuntarily said “wow”. We could see down three thousand feet into the great valley below. Right beside us the hill side was more like a cliff, it fell so steeply that you could look almost straight down to the valley floor. And it was so verdant, so rich, so fertile every inch was covered in plants, some on hundreds of narrow terraces for cultivation, others just growing wild on any available bit of space. Grape vines grew on ground so steeply sloping harvesting them must have involved abseiling.
The north coast of Madeira is so very dramatic. It actually takes your breath away, I don’t mean figuratively I mean you literally draw catch yourself when you round a corner and the ground falls away around you. It is almost all on a slope, there are flat bits in the form of terracing and a very small part of the valley floor. I don’t think any part of Madeira is naturally flat. Houses are dug into the hillside, and supported on stilts on their downhill side. Roads wind in tight hairpins or are built laboriously through and over the valleys on an interminable series of tunnels and bridges. Cultivation is on the slope too, there are no tractors here, lots of short round faced locals work laboriously to maintain the terraces and harvest their crops growing a thousand feet above them.
But what crops they are, this north coast is the most fertile land I have ever seen, every single inch of land is covered in greenery. Sugar cane vies for space with bananas, potatoes and marrows fight for the soil, vines cover large sections, copses of fruit trees stand stout over lower growing crops. Roadside verges and tiny gardens yield crops, nothing grows here for beauty it is all edible, or drinkable. Driving through it is a welcome antidote to the last two months of dry, dusty mainland. Michael was working hard though, while we watched this rich promised land coast by he was encouraging the car up the hills, forcing it round the hairpin bends and easing it down the slopes again on the other side of the valleys.
Over the course of our first full day on Madeira we travelled halfway along the north coast. Stopping at small towns and cafés to gaze at the views and replenish Michael with ice creams and cups of tea. In a rock pool a hammer head shark sat, dead and decomposing it’s strange shape reminding me of the alien-ness of the sea. At one point towards the end of that drive the road narrowed to one lane and lead through the rock in a rough, dark old tunnel.
Later we found the Madeira Volcano centre with lava tubes left from the island’s formation. Accompanying the natural exhibit was a small centre with information about volcanoes. I don’t think I took any hallucinogenic drugs before entering which suggests that the ten minute 3D film of the inside of the earth core, mantle and crust was actually real. But it was too surreal to really be believed.

The next day we drove into Funchal, the main town of the island. It was not a particularly exciting place, neither beautiful nor ugly. We rode a cable car to the top of the hill and wandered around a botanic garden filled with an eclectic mix of Japanese, African and Portuguese art. It also housed the tallest vase in the world – certified by the 1992 guiness book of records, I do not know if this has now been superseded by an even taller vase.

After moving the boat to a quieter marina we hired a car again and drove the plateaux in the middle of the island. It is high and still, it reminded me of Scottish hills, with mist and bracken. We walked along a levada – a small canal built to move water along the contours of the hills from the wet north side to the relatively dry south side of the island. I stopped briefly in a little sheltered gully by the old man made stream and ate brambles while the others walked on ahead. After our walk, and a rejuvenating pizza we had tea and scones at the Savoy with some friends of George Michael. Just to show we don’t always slum it.

Earlier today I climbed the hill to a large grey building on the hill top. It stands over the small village of Colheta like a modernist spaceship. It is not signposted anywhere. It houses the best collection of surrealistic art I have ever seen in one place. It is filled with Dali and Magritte and Miro, it was designed by Mies Van Der Rohe. It was the single most rewarding hour I have spent here, fantastic and, well, surreal. It sits over a little village, beside a school in a remote Atlantic Island. I love Madeira.

It is half past four now, once the rain clears and the wind looks good we are going to head out towards La Palma in the Canary Islands. Two more days sailing on big clear oceans then we’ll wake up in a whole new place, with new things to see, new words to speak and new people to meet. It’s a good life really.

B

To Madeira

If I stand up on the cockpit seat I still can’t see land, I’ve never done an ocean passage before so this is a new experience. And the sky is huge, and the sea goes on forever, such a vast expanse of water. So much sky, and such complexity of shade and shape. Towering cumulus are hit by the sun, smaller darker ones crouch near by, streams of wispy cirrus and great banks of nimbus hang moving slowly too. The sky isn’t filled though, blue shows through, pale and fragile in places; in others bold and regal.
I know I’ve written about the sky before, but it fascinates me. I like that I can now read the clouds and understand how they formed. Mid-ocean there is little else to see, but the sea and the sky. On my first night watch after leaving Portugal at about four in the morning I was startled by the halo round the full moon. I have never seen it so clear, a great circle of light caused by refraction of light in ice crystals in the troposphere.
Much or this post is copied from my journal that I wrote while at sea and written a few days after arriving in Madeira when it became suitable. On our first morning at sea I wrote bits of the first two paragraphs and continued (I quote directly): In three days time we should reach Madeira. Until then we can only read and write, talk and sing, watch the clouds and the sea. And Sail.

It is comforting to feel the floor moving as it should (I wrote the next morning). The boat is heeling well over to port and leaps and crashes into each wave. It’s interesting accommodation for it all, in order to make a cup of tea you need at least four hands – one to hold the mug, one for the kettle and two to hold on. As I don’t have two spare limbs we make do, non-slip surfaces, clever wedging of things and (most importantly) anticipating the movement of the boat. But I love it, the world feels great here. All the stresses of land disappear and I’m free again. Ok so any small action, like getting a biscuit becomes a major undertaking. Ok so we had to reef in the dark mid squall last night, with flying spray and horizontal rain. But these are such minor problems compared to crossing the road, or buying a lottery ticket (something I’ve never actually managed to figure out).


Once again I woke refreshed and content. I managed to have a shower and put on clean clothes (which as mentioned can be a serious undertaking at sea). Then I had a pot of coffee, bread and honey and watched the world. We were steaming along still, wind force four ish, off the starboard quarter. We hoisted the spinnaker and played with the tower generator.
Now it is early evening and I’m really rather happy. The sailing is beautiful and gentle, and the skies big and clear. Ocean sailing is wonderful when it is like this, you wake up and just watch the sky and the sea rush by, free from worries. My night watch was easy last night, I chatted to Barnie for a while and relieved him early, he was on again at three in the morning so it seemed only fair. Then I sat and listened to John Coltrane and watched the world. The moon rose high and bright, only to soon be met by Orion. The moon and the constellation fought for dominance for an hour, one glowing brighter then the other. I don’t remember who won.
It is so easy to smile here, to be content. The boat yaws from side to side as the waves overtake her. The spinnaker flaps and bangs as it fills with wind. Our wake hisses and foams as we cut our swathe through the great ocean. A squall approaches, a narrow band of rain links the clouds to the sea, it’ll bring wind. This great sea, so wide and beautiful, has been a battleground and a trade route; a home and a prison; a race track and a wilderness. It’s had not to love, and the fear.
And Blue Sky yaws again, crockery clinks in lockers and something tumbles across the cabin sole. After we have eaten dinner, perched around the cockpit in the falling light the others go below. I stand and watch the last of the day tumble out of the sky and Blue Sky settles in for the night. At sea darkness means the end of the day, lighting is only used in need not for recreation. After the sun has set, and we have eaten only the watch keeper remains on deck and alert. We sail on, but she feels different, quiet and gentle.
It is a beautiful night again, the moon hasn’t risen yet so the stars are scattered like dust and impossibly numerous. Michael joins me on deck, we play with the sails and chat. After a while the sea mimics the sky and phosphorescence glows in the wake. Tiny plankton react upon being disturbed and give of bursts of pale turquoise light. The sea and the sky twinkle together. The moon soon hide the stars though, and blankets the phosphorescence, my watch is over so I retreat to my bunk.
The next morning the light trickled back into the sky at first, increasing to a torrent as the sun rose higher. For a while a band of pink ringed the entire sky all the way round. Inside it the moon hung on, looking out of place surrounded by deep purple. I stood at the wheel, alone, guiding this great mass of fibreglass, wood, metal, canvas and rope through the sea to her first ocean landfall. To the shape of Madeira Grande just emerging on the horizon.