Spain and Portugal

The statue in Coruña's main plaza depicts a rather fierce woman with her fallen foe at her feet.

Once we made it to A Coruña on the northwest coast of Spain, it really felt like we were cruising. We weren't the only ones to feel that way. The overwhelming sentiment at the dock was one of relief and excitement. The Bay of Biscay was behind us, we were out of northern Europe, the weather was decidedly warmer, most of the lows were north of us, and we were exploring new places. Our daily and weekly schedules took on a more cruiser-minded approach: maybe one small project a day, explore the new anchorage, spend time with other cruiser friends, a few hours of school, and make plans for the next destination. Where we go next is based on longer term plans like meeting Hans's parents in Cascais in the second week of October and shorter term plans like finding the best grilled sardines and pulpo and making time for a beach barbecue or hiking to a look-out point. The weather, of course, is the most important factor in our decisions. All our plans are based on that magical trifecta: immediate plans, longer term plans, and the weather.

A Coruña

A Coruña was a fun, unexpected stop. A Coruña is a popular first stop after crossing Biscay, but we knew the current and winds would be against us in order to travel west from Coruña to get around the corner, so when we left France we planned on sailing to Fisterra, more on the west coast than the north coast. On our third morning crossing Biscay, Hans downloaded a weather file and saw that the winds were forecast to be accelerating to 40 knots by Fisterra. Jibe! We changed course and headed to Coruña. What a great decision!

Coruña is known for its "galerias," the multi-paned glass windows that front most of the buildings.

Malin and "Chewy" on s/v Leia were waiting on the dock to catch our lines and welcome us to the city. Artemis was right behind us and thus began our "Caribbean Convoy"--three similar sized boats, all with Swedes aboard, heading to the Caribbean. We spent a couple days playing tourist in Coruña, a good sized city with a combination of local areas and tourist areas. We went out for our first round of tapas, went shopping and to the beach, and walked around the old town area. Boreal friends Adam and Cindi from s/v Bravo arrived after a couple days and we had an extravagant lunch together. As we were placing our order our server eventually said, "stop, this is enough. You're getting too much food!"

The crew of many boats enjoying a drink before a big storm rolls through.

Tapas!

A group of traditional musicians walked through the main tapas street, stopping every now and then to play. People put their drinks down and danced in the square.

And Matilda and Lewis did their own version.

President Periwinkle

The main event in Coruña was definitely adopting President Periwinkle. The kids had been petitioning us for months to get some kind of pet. We knew a few other boats that had successfully cruised with a hamster so we decided to acquiesce to all the requests and adopt a hamster. Time for a new adventure on PW!

Carrying President Periwinkle home very, very carefully.

Hello new friend!

After a few days we moved out to the anchorage, only to be told by the maritime police that we were not in an authorized anchoring area. We moved across the bay and anchored off the beach, but by then we were ready to start moving. As predicted, there was no good wind to travel west. Predominate winds were SW or N, so we took a day with no wind and motored along the coast for 10 hours to Camariñas. We weren't the only ones with that idea; we counted over 17 boats on AIS that left at the same time!

Fine, we'll move.

The dramatic coastline of the north shore.

Camariñas

Camariñas was our second "look, we're really cruising, we're doing this!" stop. The anchorage was filled with boats, the majority of them from Sweden, the Netherlands, and France, and also our Boreal friends Diana and Randy on s/v Randonee. A quick text to Diana to plan a hike together morphed into a big group hike with over 12 cruisers. Post-hike we all went back to our boats, grabbed food, and met on the beach for a bonfire and potluck dinner. This is classic cruising behavior: participate in some kind of energetic activity during the day, then meet for drinks or dinner or both.

Fisterre, O'Grove, and the season's first gale

We kept cruising down the coast, stopping at Fisterra and then O'Grove. A gale was predicted to blow through while we were anchored off a designated nature reserve near O'Grove. Because of our shallow draft we were pretty close to the beach and, we thought, well protected from SW winds. Leia and Artemis moved a few miles south to a marina and we stayed put. The winds really picked up the next afternoon and it got rather uncomfortable on board. We weighed anchor and motored a mile to the closest marina. Which was actually a fishing harbor with no berths for visiting boats. It was blowing like snot when we arrived so we took the only open spot we could find, docked right behind a massive fishing boat. We really hoped we weren't taking someone's spot. The gate to the dock was locked so Hans jumped the fence to make a run to the grocery store. On his way back he met a fisherman who unlocked the gate for him and asked if he wanted to borrow his keys. Feeling relieved that we weren't in anyone's way, we settled in to a stormy evening at dock.

Fisterre's main anchorage

grocery shopping with a view in Fisterre

Sun protection

A sunset walk at the nature reserve.

Freja and Matilda have both made clubs; Matilda's club is the Dream Big Club and members are encouraged to help fulfill each other's dreams, no matter how small or big. For example, I dreamed to not get wet during one dinghy ride, so Emma held an umbrella up to protect me.

Freja's club is slightly more sinister and has the main goal of taking over the world. Or the moon. Members are herself, Lewis, and Chewy. (also known as her minions.) In this photo, you see her minions toiling away at the specifics of their moon habitat.

Our dock at the fishing harbour.

The calm after the storm.

The Cies archipelago

Like all big storms, it blew itself out and the next day was calm and gorgeous. We headed south in massive seas to the "Parque Nacional Marítimo-Terrestre de las Islas Atlánticas," specifically the little archipelago of Cíes. The anchorage was insanely rolly, but the island was well worth the discomfort. Nicknamed "the Caribbean of Spain" (or something like that), the island was gorgeous. Soft, white sand, crystal clear water, and miles of hiking trails that went straight up and provided spectacular views of the ocean and mainland Spain. The forest was typical of Galicia--tall pine trees with the forest floor completely thick with needles. In two days we hiked from one end of the island to the other: on the first afternoon we hiked north in an attempt to reach the cave we saw from sea as we were sailing, and on the second day we hiked to the southern end to reach the highest point on the island. Hans and Lewis tried fishing and I think got more wet than anything.

We hiked to the north end to find a cave Matilda had seen from the boat. We found the cave, but couldn't find a way to enter.

Halloween decorations on PW

Baiona

From Cies we sailed south to Baiona. As we left the anchorage the wind was really piping so instead of motoring directly to Baiona, we raised a reefed main and unfurled the staysail and practiced tacking and sailing in stronger weather. Hans and I had fun, the kids...not so much. Baiona was a fun stop for a couple days. We did laundry, caught up on internet stuff, and had a fantastic dinner out with Randonee. After dinner we walked around the castle ramparts, spooky and magical. The ramparts were barely lit and we were the only people walking around at 10PM. To one side we could hear the ocean crashing on the rocks; to the other was a dark space where sometimes the tops of trees would reach into the walkway. We imagined guards standing watch over the castle 1,000 years ago in storms, in fog, in blazing summer heat.

Porto

We left Baiona with Artemis and sailed to Porto together. Wind was light at the beginning but gradually built during the day and we had a great day--watching dolphins, watching for fishing pots, and hoping for fish. We arrived in Porto after dark but the harbor entrance is wide and well-lit. We anchored directly inside the harbor next to Leia and Artemis dropped anchor next to us. The Caribbean Convoy was ready to explore Porto!

First up, an impromptu meeting with Hans's high school friend Sebastian and his family. They happened to be in Porto for a wedding which was fortuitous, but also not surprising. Hans and Sebastian have a history of meeting each other by accident and by plan in random places around the world. They're also big sailors so after meeting for coffee, we all went back to the boat for sailing talk. We spent the afternoon and evening in Porto--we all could have spent weeks there. Narrow, winding cobblestone streets, tall buildings with laundry hanging from windows, residents hanging out drinking coffee and chatting, or getting their hair done. It felt like a small city that was able to retain its natural character despite being somewhat overrun by tourists.

delicious Nata pastries

Avoiding orcas

We were about a week away from meeting Hans's parents outside of Lisbon so we needed to keep moving south. From Porto we sailed to Cascais, Portugal, about 160 nautical miles away. We had a perfect weather forecast and the swell and waves were minimal, but there was a big elephant in the room, or, rather, whale in the ocean. A few pods of juvenile orcas have been "interacting" with boats from Gibraltar up to A Coruña. I put interacting in quotes because that is the preferred term to use as it doesn't anthropomorphize the orcas, however attacking is  a more apt description. Sailboats (and it is almost exclusively sailboats) that encounter orcas along this particular stretch of ocean are left with serious damage to their boats and have to be towed to shore. These young orcas seem to have a fondness for fiberglass rudders. There are reports after reports of a pod of orcas surrounding a boat and bashing, pushing, and hitting a sailboat for over an hour, relentlessly pounding the boat until they finally chomp off the rudder and swim away. Humans are not harmed and no boats are capsized but a tow and extensive work in the boatyard is required after an "encounter." 

So it was with great trepidation that we left Porto and headed offshore. The majority of boats heading south this season are choosing to take a route very close inshore, really just a couple miles off the beach to avoid the orcas. This is a good strategy, but also pretty much guarantees that you'll be motoring and only traveling in the day in order to keep a good watch for fishing pots. We opted to go offshore to catch the wind and avoid the fishing pots. We felt secure in this decision because Positive Waves is aluminum and it would be pretty hard to chomp off an aluminum rudder. A sister ship encountered orcas in the early summer off the coast of Portugal and sustained damage to their fiberglass daggerboards but not the rudder. We felt OK about sailing offshore. Rationally OK, rationally safe, but my nerves were high. I dreamed of orcas during every off-watch doze.

I was reefing the jib a few hours after sunset and I heard the distinct sound of blowhole very close to me. I almost peed my pants. No kidding. But instead of orcas out to beat us up, it was a pod of dolphins playing in our wake completely lit up by phosphoresence. Imagine dolphins swimming a few meters from you with water glowing blue and sparkling all around them and their tails leaving a wake of glowing water. Or, picture the scene in Moana when Moana's grandmother's spirit swims alongside Moana at night, glowing and irridescent, leaving a trail of sparkles behind her. The kids came running into the cockpit and we all marveled at the spectacular sight. Between shouts of amazement, Matilda kept asking if she was dreaming.

Who is in charge of this ship?!

We pulled into Cascais the next day around lunchtime after an overall great downwind run. It's often easier to sail for over 24 hours as opposed to day sails. Hans and I don't get very much sleep, but we also cover 3 times more miles than in an 8 hour run and we spend less time with the in between stuff of anchoring, weighing anchor, raising the sails, etc. It was our first time in a marina since Coruña and we were very happy to give the boat (and crew!) a good wash with fresh water and get the boat a little tidy and organized. It's great to be at anchor, going from place to place, and exploring, but it's also nice to stop and catch up with the basics.