Experience shows us that love is not looking into one another's eyes
but looking together in the same direction.
- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (Wind, Sand and Stars, 1939)-
I take my beanie off for Spain...
Oh yeah. The Bastard Biscay is behind us. Believe it or not, the weather up the English Channel has been full of easterly wind and high pressure, ever since we got out of there! Whoever is running the weather, I'd like to have a quiet word with the bastard...
The Biscay dolphins were on their way to Spain with us. When they hang around for 16 hours straight, you kinda get bored with them..
But hey, I'm not complaining. In fact, I might be struggling to find things to complain about, now that we're in the warmer climate, in the beginning of the Portugese Trades. Oh, except, that the whole Portugese coast is now riddled with low pressure, of course. Ha! I'm not even going to complain about that. The rush is over now. We've got until mid November to move down to Canaries and decide, whether to continue down to Cap Verdes or Senegal or both or what?
So, what about the Biscay then. I knew, that all the hype I was trying to create, was going to be for nothing. There was no way I would have gone to Biscay without a good weather report. So, after consulting the Grib files, weather charts, Meteo France, US navy fleet weather, Buoyweather and naturally talking with Skype to a good friend of mine Dave, who happens to be a many-times-over-Biscay, yachtmaster, circumnavigator and a meteorologist. (Dave does the weather routing and forecasting for Zac, the wannabe youngest. G'donya Zac!).
Phoaaa, that was a lot of links, some of them really boring. Should I start to sell 30% of my words as links and pop-ups? Just kidding...
The word was "GO" on Friday 12 Sep. We're usually a bit late getting up and didn't really manage to do the shopping before siesta-time, so a Saturday departure was imminent, even though I had done my best to abandon the old superstition about leaving on a Friday. Buoyweather was showing a 7 meter swell in front of Brest so it was worth waiting for the seas to ease a bit. The 5-day forecast was looking very good. Amazingly good.
Sunrise at day-two. A beautiful day, but a complete non-event. Pushing hard ahead.
We took off at 5am, the usual gear was still on - double tracksuit pants, long sleeved shirt topped with two jumpers and all covered in wet weather gear to keep the cool air from penetrating through the clothing. The air was 14C, 2 degrees better than in Falmouth. As we "plottered" our way out, we were met with a still sizable swell. There was little wind, enough to keep the sails full of air while the Yanmar pushed us forward into deep water. With a favourable tide, we reached the continental shelf and into the 4km deep Atlantic waters in just 15 hours. Straight line to La Coruna, autopilot on, AIS beeping for any ships coming closer than 0.5 miles. A clear blue sky followed a beautiful moonlit night.
It is really boring...
...to tell you about a crossing. As I struggle to find words to color in the dull business of a tub floating in the water, I question the need to even make the attempt. Should I make it shorter? OK. Here we go:
First day light wind and motorsailing. Second day no wind and motoring. Little wind during the night and the growing swell gave evidence of wind - somewhere far away. The second night was restless and rolly. We found no place to have a good sleep, though Annina tried for almost 12 hours straight. In the third morning the wfax from SSB, the gribfiles from Sailmail and the email from Dave (I know, I know, I'm a fucking weather freak ok!) all indicated continuing good weather, so we changed heading a little to the right, towards the west coast of Spain. The daylight brought with it an increasing NE wind and I was finally able to kill the engine. I had pulled the main down during the night and now it was just a matter of taking the nr2 jib out front to the second forestay and then poling out the genoa. We were finally sailing the way sailing is supposed to be done - wind pushing the boat from behind.
End of Boring
That's it. I'm not going to describe the passage any further. It's really really boring. I might have to turn to Kapitan Peedoff for more excitement...
We arrived in Spain, the place that we had so much dreamed of, for the whole awful, bastard-cold, shit-weather, head-wind northern Europe. Yet, I was in a bad mood. We had been surfing at 7 knots in 30kn winds towards the end of the passage, and Annina ended up lying in bed, questioning her ability to continue out to the big oceans, to continue our trip to Australia. I was exhausted and troubled with the awful question again: Is Annina a passenger or a crew?
Still cool, rising swell and not much sleep. Annina made spag-bol and satay chicken with cashews in France.
Fridge - frying pan - mouth. Delivery was quick and easy on passage.
This is a painful issue and one that requires a lot of effort and growth from both of us. Annina has the tendency to hide and run away from the unpleasant and scary. I have the tendency to be a martyr, to play the victim, while facing all the "unpleasantries" until I pass out. In our thre months of short, cold, bumpy trips against the wind and waves, I've been doing the work and complaining about it, while quietly asking myself: "is this shit really worth it?. Annina has been lying in bed and wondering: "Is this shit really worth it?"
Now we're out of that shit, in warmer weather and steadier winds. But there's stil shit, life always has shit coming for you. There's no garden of life without some shit-fertilizer. We have to reconcile our personal problems and work out a compromise that would allow Annina to ease into the life in the high seas, as the water around her becomes deeper, the voyages longer and waves bigger. I single-handed Atlantic in 2006. I should be able to do the "sailing" part alone, and not give Annina such a hard time about her timidness. Brooding over the issue, I realised, that I always thought before that I need a woman with "balls" to sail around the world with me. But now I know that what I really wanted, was to grow "balls" for myself and have a real woman by my side. I have the real woman by my side now, the woman I love more than anything else. It's time for me to grow balls...
Day 3. Wind picks up and Yanmar takes a rest, at last. 6 knots goose winged has been a rare treat in European waters.
Sorry, I ended up thinking out loud again. Nevermind. We felt both a little exhausted and sad at first, despite the sun and 23 C temperature. The outcome? I will have to stop martyring my way across the oceans. Annina will have to - little by little - emerge from the bunk, face the ocean and most importantly, face the fact that she can. She can so much. We all can so much more than we realise. There is no question about continuing the voyage together. We will. Because we can.
A fearless man has no courage. He doesn't need it.
Courage is needed by the fearful, to do it anyway.
-Lauri G.-
All miseries are forgotten in port. I should know this. In late October 2004, I was "falling apart" in the thunder storms of northern Sumatra. Battling insomnia, engine trouble, pirate warnings, head currents, headwinds, squalls and lighting, anxiety and fear, I was facing the reality of selling Aliisa and admitting that I'm just not cut out to do this. (All this, while Paula remained remarkably surf-life-saver-like calm). In port, all the difficulties, all the agony and pain became good stories to tell over a pint of beer. I rolled my sleeves, stood up and continued, albeit a little more humble and wise, a little more aware of how a man, in exceptional situations, can change into someone that he has not met before.
A little anxious of what lies ahead, hiding in thick protection, holding on tight,
she gazes ahead into the foggy future...
I'm standing right behind her, looking in the same direction.
