When we met William and Nicola in Santiago complete with two large suitcases and a hatbox, containing a new hat, we wondered if these landlubbers were going to hack it as we cruised the Rias on the northwest coast of Spain. The Rias are a series of 3 main and many smaller estuaries that indent the coastline on the top left hand corner of Spain and boast some of the most lovely cruising grounds in this neck of the woods with secluded beaches (some with ria views), national park islands and plenty of mussel farms which produce some of the most amazing mussels I have ever seen – a real meaty number … We were however delighted with the contents of said suitcases; curry spice mixes, haggis and a bottle of Clitoria, an interestingly named gin, which is a vivid blue in the bottle, but turns a gentle shade of pink on contact with tonic. A real party piece :-). After unpacking and sorting out the new guests on board, we pottered across the Ria de Muros to spend the night at anchor and spent time considering where we were gong to source fish for the first curry. William and Nicola are pretty dab hands at the curry and the skills of bhunaoing thrice and applying dunga (method No. 3), which are all explained in the little known curry bible “The Cooking Delights of the Maharajas’.

We had already pre-registered for access to the national park Islands of Isla Ons and Islas Cies, the former of which which protects the Ria de Arousa from the Atlantic swells, which roll in from the 3,800M deep Atlantic Ocean and deliver the west coast of Portugal and Spain with some of the best surfing beaches in Europe, but don’t do a lot for those of us who want to have a gentle sail down the coast in the direction of the Med.. To get to the next Ria, we had to put to sea; out of one Ria and into the next. After a few hours of relative calm, during which WIlliam and I calculated the volume of water in the earth’s oceans in cubic km (with ~1% accuracy), the wind got up and we christened the landlubbers with tacking into 25-30knts of wind with 2-3M of atlantic swell, which Nicola somehow slept though with the aid of some serious sea sickness tabs, but gave the rest of us and adrenaline fuelled afternoon. We arrived safely in Riveira, just up the Ria in good time to get the first curry on the go; an awesome fish in fenugreek. Sadly Riveira was pretty much closed for one of those fiesta things, so we headed for the beach on an isolated island in the middle of the Ria, which happened to be home to 1001 seagulls and their chicks, keenly protected by their screeching parents. So much for picnics on idyllic secluded beaches; to the contrary, Toby was in danger of becoming luch for the gulls. We did not stay long enough for that! The next day, off to Isla Ons, which I have to say is very beautiful and pretty much un-touched save the eucalyptus trees, which I am sure are not a local species and a couple of really great restaurants overlooking the beautiful bay below and a beautiful view of the protected Ria. Every anchorage in the Rias seems to have a high proportion of Irish boats from Cork or Schull. What is it about Ireland that the Irish feel the need to be somewhere else so much of the time, setting up pubs or just sailing the Rias?

At the end of the week, we sailed up the Ria to Combarro with its proximity to Ponteverde and public transport links said Tschuss to William and Nicola and hello cobber to our guests from Sydney, Henry and Kate. The previous month, Henry and Kate had been practicing sailing in the Whitsundays in Queensland on a cat, but were now on a proper boat with only one hull, albeit with a scent of indian curry. We returned to Isla Ons, found a mooring amongst the Irish boats walked up to the lighthouse after another lunch with a Ria view. On to Islas Cies via Portonovo, where were anchored in the prefect spot both for the lovely beach and the perfect sunset. It is very comforting that getting together with old friends (I have known Henry for almost 50 years, but not really seen him for 40 and it takes a boat in Galicia to motivate us both to rekindle the connection), just seems to just work, with no effort, you just slip back into a great friendship and even the partners get on well. It was getting hot in the Rias. 40oC; so we went past Vigo, under the bridge and into the virtual sauna with no wind but with the fabulous Restaurante Mauro (don’t miss it if you are in the area), with white table cloths and great food, where we were drawn inside for the aircon. Henry and Kate sadly left us in Vigo to return to the members bar of the Cricket Revival Australia Pub Interesting acronym); El Tobos wept and we sailed on .. destination Portugal via Baiona, where we collected our next guest after a short stop in Barras Bay, which is one of the first dog friendly beaches we have visited and certainly a lovely spot where the forest sweep down to the sea on a protected anchorage where the ria views were certainly all on display.

I had always wondered, but never bothered to ask why a scallop in France is called a ‘St Jacques’ and in Germany a ‘Jacobsmuschel’ … Well, now, I know :-). St James, who was one of the 12 apostles ventured forth after the first Easter and spread the word. We all know that Peter ended up in Rome, but James ended up in Galicia. Although based in Galicia he returned to Judea in AD44 but was sadly beheaded, his remains, presumably in two parts were returned to Galicia, but lost en route. One part (the part with the feet) were found in AD812 supposedly covered in scallops just off the Galician coast.
This prompted two things; first the building of a cathedral that is rather outsized for the area in which to house and venerate said remains for eternity and secondly, scallops, which had a perfectly reasonable name in ‘Scallop’ were re-christened.

The presence of James’ remains in Santiago popularised a pilgrimage by fervent believers to pop along to kiss James’ feet. The pilgrimage from many points in Europe and ending inSantiago is now trodden by nearly 300,000 pilgrims a year prompted by a papal declaration that pilgrims would benefit in the after life if they trod ‘The Way’ to Santiago and is now marked at regular intervals  by a scallop shell and an arrow on many a footpath. Our pilgrimage by sea is by far the most difficult as the scallops that marked our way are hidden deep beneath the waves. We were joined for the final stages of our pilgrimage by our first live aboard guests (Steven and Helen – authors of the previous blog) who help us to complete not only the pilgrimage to Santiago, but indeed the optional extended pilgrimage to the end of the world aka Cap Finistere, which marks the end of the Costa del Morte, so named for the treacherous rocks and wild weather that has undone many a pre-GPS enabled sailor. Cap Finistere really does have the feeling of being at the end of the world, as its latin derived name implies. The furthest west point of Spain that looks out across the endless ocean to nothing beyond, into which Columbus ventured in 1492 and found the Americas. The seas were kind to us with 20+ knots of wind on the starboard quarter that pushed us along very nicely thank you.

We had moored up in Fistera, which was full of pilgrims, hostels and hippy shops. We had our first encounter of ‘Percebes’  (goose barnacles), a local sea food which was just a part of all the great food here … scallops (of course), sole, hake, razor clams, mussels … delicious.

Once in Santiago itself, we met Lucas, a pilgrim from VIenna, who had all his worldly possessions in the roll of his trousers; no shoes so badly swollen feet, but he had an amazing operatic voice, which we encouraged him to demonstrate a number of times in exchange for a few glasses of wine and some tapas. He was a super interesting guy, but I somehow felt uncomfortable taking a photo … Aside from Lucas, these religious places are full of the more extreme end of humanity. religious fanatics, vying for the best position, nearest St. James’ remains, pilgrims; some of a religious journey but many on a life journey on the road, plus the inevitable tourist shops selling tat and postcards … all a far cry from the wilds of the seas off Cap Finistere.

In Santiago, we said goodbye to Helen and Steven , our first guests and with whom we travelled from A Coruna to the Rias, throughout the fiesta season, which disturbed a few evenings with fireworks (apparently the louder the better) until 4AM (yes 4AM), followed by a band with a big amp and a little talent. We enjoyed both 25knt winds and some very gentle days; so we left them a little sleep deprived but safely handed over to Spanish public transport. We also said hello to William and Nicola who arrived from Munich and with whom we would start our tour of the Rias

Guest contributor Steven Morten

Regular readers will already know the value of having friends with boats (if you butter them up well enough, you might get an invitation to stay on board). So Helen and I were secretly delighted to be the first guests on Sea Star’s epic journey south.

We were already in Spain for our son’s wedding and arrived in A Coruna a little on the hungover side of healthy but soon managed to get into the swing (literally) of life on the ocean wave.  Our bedroom (sorry, cabin) was set up to welcome us on board: a broom to clean the boat, a matching set of Sea Star t-shirts, and a motivational book by some minor British politician who thinks we all need his advice. James has never been known for his subtlety.

A Coruna is right on the top left hand corner of Spain – a lovely little port town and the second city of the region of Galicia, which is famous for its seafood. It also has the Roman Tower of Hercules, the oldest functioning lighthouse in the world. But we didn’t see much of that because we headed off to sea the next day and went round the corner to head south down the Atlantic Coast of Spain.

Now, dear reader, you may think a 48 foot boat is quite big but when there are four people and a dog vying for space in a restricted area that has an alarming tendency to rock n roll from side to side with some violence, you find yourself struggling to stay upright, never mind doing anything useful at the same time.  But we were the nominated crew, so we had lessons in ropes (sorry, lines, sheets and halyards), knots, wind both apparent and true (don’t ask) and sails. This mainly involved doing all the tasks that James and Nicky had tired of, and we found ourselves pulling ropes (sorry, sheets) around winches, getting fingers stuck in jammers (don’t ask) all the while trying to stay upright and out of the way of everyone else. Oh, and not standing on top of El Tobos, who had this sailing thing down pat – he went to sleep.

Talking of sheets, you should see the toilets (sorry, heads). Tiny things that only take one buttock at a time, with liquid slopping around inside in severe danger of an unplanned exit and you aren’t even allowed toilet paper.  Guys, don’t even think of standing up! The basic rule with these things (sorry, heads) is “Hold On Until You Reach A Marina”.  Remember that and you’ll be fine.

Actually it was all fine and we adjusted well to life on board, felt good about raising and lowering sails (sorry, sheets) all on our own and even managed to make a cup of tea whilst rock n rolling round the corner. We ate nothing but seafood and drank the local wine and I can report both are fabulous and cheap and the wine only gives you a hangover if you drink a whole bottle all by yourself.

We went via Cape Finisterre as we left Biscay and went into Fitzroy, heading for Trafalgar  (north by north west 4, variable with some foggy patches, becoming 6 by 16.00) and ended up in the nearest port town to Santiago da Compostela which is the end point for the walkers, nutters, hippies and pilgrims who undertake the Camino Way from France and other points east and walk all the way along the northern tracks of Spain. The Way is marked by the symbol of the shell and you finish in the church of St James in Santiago and kiss his feet. Job done.

As we went via bus into town, James somehow seemed to think this had something to do with him but I’ll be buggered if I am going to kiss his feet!

Anyway, a week had passed and unfortunately it was time for us to go, so we said bon voyage to our wonderful hosts and went back to sunny England and normal size loos.

Top tip: butter up the hosts and get yourself and invite – it’s brilliant.

With his new Spanish nationality, Toby (El Tobos) has taken it upon himself to convert to Spanish as the language of choice. Commands such as ‘Sit’, ‘Stay’ and ‘Here’ and so on, which are clearly standard doggie language in English and working are no longer, or certainly no longer heeded. Some might say that El Tobos is taking European integration too far, but it is a requirement of Spanish nationalisation to have a working knowledge of the lingo, so try as we might, he ignores all these words. Luckily, we have ordered a Spanish phrase book … so smarter than the average Jack Russell, or so we hope – more on this one later. Strangely when there is the promise of food around, his English language skills return , but they are short lived. We are still trying to figure this out.
For the last few years, we have got into the party mood in the summer with a pilgrimage to Glastonbury, which is so much more than just a music festival and more a festival of summer and arts and crafts from years gone by. It is all consuming and great fun. The only problem for those of us of a certain age, is the lack of sleep. A 3 day party without any real sleep can be a challenge. The summer is also Fiesta time in Spain, but unlike Glastonbury, Fiestas here seem to be in every town. Each town along the coast of Spain and probably elsewhere too has its own justification for a Fiesta such as the transportation of bulls to the bull ring in Pamplona (this happens in other towns too) or maybe to commemorate the return of local boy who went to America in the 18th century with nothing more that the clothes he stood up in and returned a millionaire and a survivor of the English fleets with his tobacco or sugar fortune with which he rebuilt the town, or even, in the absence of a local hero or a bull ring, just because the local priest decided to revere a certain saint back in the 14th century.
Whatever the reason Northern Spain is awash with Fiestas and with the correct planning, you can sail from Fiesta to Fiesta for 2-3 months without a break, as no two fiestas seem to happen at the same time. They can take you by surprise as you can find yourself moored in the perfect spot overlooking a peaceful bay with a lovely village as a backdrop when all of a sudden, the peace is broken by the brass band, a troop of bagpipes and innumerable firecrackers and you are right in the middle of a Fiesta which lasts well into the night with  Euro-pop blasting until 4AM. Fiestas are big events here. There is no pilgrimage to a field in Somerset, rather, one by one whole towns shut down and the entire population dons the required costume and comes out into the streets for singing and dancing. These are all very much family affairs with grandparents and grandchildren, aunts and uncles … As this is a Glastonbury fall year, this is a great option for those suffering Glasto-withdrawl … no U2, Dolly Parton or Stevie Wonder to bring star appeal, but a similar atmosphere of fun and community spirit but with sailing intervals. Actually really nice.

The Spanish are late starters in the evenings. Even when there is no Fiesta, many restaurants do not open until 9PM and you even find families turning up to eat after 11PM with kids, so when the Fiesta revelry gets going it will be well into the wee hours. You would have thought that this would put a strain on the metabolism of 50/60 somethings on a boat, but the Spanish have an answer for this. A good lunch in 25oC dappled shade with a bottle of wine results in a productivity drop in the afternoon, so unlike the puritanical North Europeans with a high work ethic, they do not try to power through the laws of nature, rather they go to bed for a kip. Perhaps doing anything productive is something the folk in these parts think about after the summer and summer is just the time for Fiestas? But not much seems to get done around here in terms of productive work; it seems to be either Fiesta or Siesta preparing for Fiesta. Everything in Spain shuts down from 2PM to at least 5PM and restarts later in the day. Some of you may be familiar with a similar retirement to bed culture in France, or at least Paris, in the late afternoon. The French “Cinq a Sept” may appear similar to the Spanish Siesta, but I understand is more energetic and does not re-energise for Fiesta, but rather exhausts for a early night. I somehow think that suggesting a Siesta in the middle of a working day at Dell will not get full management support, but it is very civilised and permits revelry (or indeed work) until the early hours, even for the kids .. it allows lunch to be digested without the stress of account reviews to give you heartburn, or worse and certainly after a bottle of wine in a for lunch is almost unavoidable …

After the Basque Country, as you travel west along the north coast of Spain, the first port of call after a few dolphins and a couple of lovely sails with 20 knot winds over the beam and indeed stern quarter (see previous posts), is Asturia. Where Basque has wine, Asturia has cider. Cider means apples and apples grow in temperate climates. Asturia is home to the Picos de Europa (up to 2650m, about 20km inland), which were often spotted from the crows nest as the first sign of Europe for the transatlantic Spanish galleons returning from raping the Americas after they had been pestered, ravaged and pillaged by the superior British fleets under Drake, Raleigh and Blackbeard. The Picos are limestone mountains formed from fossilised pre-historic sea creatures (wow!).
The Picos are not only the first things seen by dilapidated returning Spanish fleets, but also the first thing seen by the warm weather fronts after their drift across the Atlantic from the sunny Caribbean, these fronts see the Picos, drift skywards, cool and dump their humidity on the happy apple trees and less happy visiting tourists below. In other words a tendency to rain, especially in the mountains (sorry Professor Higgins!). Drinking the cider is an interesting experience, as the waiter pours a couple of mouthfuls of cider from the bottle into your glass at full arms length for maximum height into the waiting glass held at about knee high. All this adds air and flavour to the cider, which must be downed in one and at €6 per 75cl bottle, we tried this a few times (hic)

Undeterred, we dug out the hiking boots and the wet weather gear, rented a car, locked up the boat and set off for Cangas de Onis, a small town on the edge of the Picos National Park, with a roman bridge, some great views and a nice place for lunch. Next morning, map in hand, we started on the famous (at least around here) Cares route into the mountains; a well trodden path (Hemingway was probably here, before he wrote ‘Old Man and the Sea’), which started with a 850ft (260m) climb, which warmed us up, followed by about 10km of gentle walk through really spectacular gorges with glimpses of snow covered peaks and vertical drops to the river 1000ft below. Just under 3 hours each way with a ‘spag bol’ and an ice cream for lunch and total distance of 23kms; 35,660 steps and 210 flights of stairs celebrated in joyous fashion by Nicky’s fit-bit, which started writhing on her arm like a banshee. No mean feat….actually by the end of the day Nicky had extremely mean feet with angry looking blisters!!!!
The trek on the second mountain day was therefore shorter and we ended up in a mountain lodge for lunch; stupidly without enough cash … not to worry, the owner just asked us where we were staying and asked us to leave the payment for lunch at the hotel when we got back. I love the old fashioned honesty and trust here. Its as if globalisation and McDonalds somehow missed this bit of the world, just like the Moors in the 8th century who conquered the rest of Spain. This is such a different place to Southern Spain … highly recommended. Toby likes it so much he has applied for a Spanish passport and changed his name to El Tobos to ensure freedom of movement.

Back to sea on Monday and the fishing line which has been dangling limp off the back of the boat since La Rochelle suddenly had something on the end of it. It must have been a 15lb (8Kg) tuna … at least … maybe more!! Excitement all around!! All the commotion attracted interest from the air, as our floundering dinner on the end of the line, 50m off the back of the boat caught the attention of seagulls and so just like The Old Man and the Sea, the success of the catch was trumped by the disappointment of watching our BBQ meat being consumed by nature’s ever keen and persistent predators/scavengers.

It was at least 15lb, honest!

I hoped they choked on the hook.

No words required …

Bilbao is capital of the Basque region. For quite a while, the Basques have been keen on independence from Spain (and I suppose France too), and with some justification. The Basque region, like Catalan is one of the economic wealth generators in Spain so they are good to go it alone, but Madrid wants to hang on to it (all those lovely tax Euros at stake). The Basques have a separate language, a distinct culture of their own, distinctive and rather fetching large beret hats (no I do not have one), their own flag and anchovies to die for. I guess you can draw parallels to Catalan (berets aside), to Scotland’s view on its membership of the UK (haggis, kilts saltire and bagpipes) and indeed to UK’s view of membership of the EU (intransigence, pot holes, failing public services and fish’n’chips). One difference is that Basqxit has a history of betrayal from the US and UK/France, as after WW2, the US, UK and France supported their cause only to realise that in fact, General Franco (Madrid head honcho)  was an anti-commy, so in the atmosphere of The Cold War, the US (followed sheepishly by the Brits and the French) put all their diplomatic muscle behind anti-commy Madrid and in so doing betrayed the Basques and ETA was born. A few assassinations, bombings and tit for tat murders later, ETA has now calmed down, but there remains a distinctly independent Basque feel about Bilbao.

The tapas here is wonderful; cheese and ham croquettes, anchovies any way, sardines, calamaris and Sereno ham and did anybody tell you that the Spanish do great wine.. Rioja and Txakoli (a crisp dry white, pronounced Jack O’Lee, which has quickly become a firm favourite with Nicky) are made in the Basque country (another reason Madrid wants to keep it). So from a food and wine perspective, no issues and noticeably cheaper than La Rochelle and indeed UK (€3.50 for a beer and a glass of wine). Not brutally destroyed by allied bombers during WW2, loads of old bits remain, with streets too narrow for cars (actually more than the famous 7), littered with eateries, tapas bars and a very relaxed joie de vivre. Bizarrely, there is a Guggenheim Museum here also, building designed by Norman Foster (he of HSBC HKG HQ fame) sat by the river; $100M building  with a 20M high floral cat which would be completely out of place in most cities, but somehow works in Bilbao.

As with France there are no potholes on the roads, no homeless people that we saw and no Daily Mail (one for you Donna) to bring the mood of the country down. Everybody just gets on and enjoys life. The squares are full in the evenings with kids playing safely and unsupervised and everybody is smiling. However, I expect one day that Nigel Farage will have a holiday here at the invitation of ETA on some jumped up freebie that he labels a diplomatic mission and get everybody wound up on a path of self destruction. Maybe not. Not wanting to make any kind of political statement here as this is a travel blog after all, but Europe is a great place (we did live in Europe for many years), with many cultures and everywhere has a strong sense of local community where everybody ignores the antics of Brussels and gets on with life; we Brits have a lot to learn …The language issue is complex here; and we felt inadequate with our only words being ‘Cerveza’, ‘Txakoli’ and ‘Gracias’ which is very useful but not enough to discuss the Basque separatist philosophy in detail and their view on Nigel Farage and his separatist strategies and expected outcomes. When en we asked anybody for language guidance, it was duly given, but sometimes in Basque and sometimes in Spanish. Awkward for the beginner.

The weather is better than our arrival suggested it might be. We had a great day on the beach, once we found an unsupervised lovely little bay where dogs ARE allowed and Toby exhausted himself with other dogs and sun, sea and sand (another new experience for him)…still very weary of going out of his depth though!!

Route planning now becoming a focus point as we need to get to get to A Coruña by mid July for our first visitors and on the way do a couple of days hiking in the Picos … so back to planning over a vino tinto and some fresh anchovies and calamaris.

RyanAir flies to Bilbao from a variety of airports. Please check out this Interesting perspective at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uVASZ2lCY5Y.

The lighthouse that featured in my last blog was finally rounded and we set sail with a fair wind, blowing a steady 15-18 knots.To those not in the know, that is a good breeze and one that will carry a 20 ton boat with two passengers and a dog at a steady 6-8 knots (6-8 nautical miles an hour – a nautical mile is just over an imperial mile; 1852 metres), which is a good comfortable speed. With the wind off the starboard bow (coming from front right), any more wind than that and it starts to get wet (spray everywhere as you bash through the waves), and bouncy which is fun for a while, but over a a day and a half would be very tiring and would mean that making tea becomes more awkward; any less wind and frustration sets in. So we were making good, comfortable speed. The fixed engine was off and we were on a direct line to Bilbao. The forecast was good and the wind was expected to veer (go clockwise around the compass) coming from SW (now) and moving to W as the day progressed into night, which would help us and make sailing more comfortable so all was good. Again, sorry to those that know all this, but the fastest and most comfortable wind for a sail is when the wind is coming from about sideways on to the boat to about 30 degrees from the back of the boat. If the wind is directly behind you, the boat tends to roll a lot on the waves and obviously you cannot sail directly into the wind …

So all was good; kettle on, tea, coffee and chocolate biscuits … tuna and sardines in tomato sauce with pasta with fresh fruit a plenty for dinner, No booze while at sea (except when we get to Cape Trafalgar, where I intend get out the rum to toast Lord Nelson and his victory and death at the greatest sea battle in history), but plenty of chilled water in the fridge. Toby however looked concerned. Despite a fair wind, a good course, hot food and chilled drinks, a floor that moved constantly was not something he had witnessed before. He is not a natural sailor. The compulsory lifejacket did not help. He remained unsettled for the whole trip and somehow managed to keep his legs crossed pretty much all the way. I think his tummy was in a knot. We sorted out the watches, which are the times when one of us is on duty, while the other sleeps. You cannot leave any boat at sea to its own devices, as although most of the time not much happens, when it does you need to do something. Hitting another vessel because you were slumbering is frowned upon in the marine community. Not changing sails when the weather changes (which it can do at night) can be dangerous, so somebody is on duty all the time; 24 hours a day.

As we sailed away from land, hay fever symptoms go away completely and insects diminish to nothing. Nice. There are plenty of birds that  fly within inches of the waves with incredible skill, picking up sardines or other sea life that ventures too close to the surface. And if you are lucky, dolphins appear (as in the photo; left) and play around the boat for a while before disappearing as quickly as they appeared. Surprisingly, there was very little in the way of boats or ships on this course. Normally you can see one or two vessels on the radar (or AIS), which has a range of 15-20 miles, but for most of the trip; nothing. One of the great things about sailing is no traffic, no traffic lights and no road rage whatsoever. I checked the chart again; could the lack of any other vessel be because we were in the French military practice firing range as sitting ducks, about to supplant Brexit on the front page of the Daily Mail as the innocent, but stupid victims of an international incident as aFrench flagged Typhoon jet swoops out of the sky at Mach 2 blows us out of the water? Nope … just no ships. As we approached Bilbao, traffic started to appear, but on the way, for 24h, almost nothing.

We approached Bilbao at about 10:30 in the evening. It was getting dark and visibility had dropped to 100 meters as the rain came in. Had we navigated to Dun Loaghaire (Ireland) by mistake? I was told in all the literature that Spain was sunny by day with warm balmy evenings with good wine and tapas by night. This was drenching rain and no visibility. We had to come in on instruments. It was definitely Spain, as I could not understand a word on the radio (would Ireland be any different, I wonder?). We found a berth changed out of wet clothes and headed for a bar. Yes; we were in Spain, not a tapas bar in Dun Loaghaire. It is amazing; after just 36hours or so on the boat, you get used to a moving platform for your feet, so terra firms feels a little odd for half an hour or so even before the beer.

We have wine

Nicky returning from bar. Empty handed

The sun came out the next day so we set off to explore the old fishing village in Getxo, the harbour just outside Bilbao where we were moored.Found a lovely tapas bar with a Spanish guitarist sitting under an old fig tree strumming away over the gentle hum drum of social chatter. and Toby’s re-invigorated over exuberance and playful spirit.

We have arrived in Spain. Hola!!

The 5:30 alarm signalled an early start to catch the morning tide. A blurry eyed dog walk followed by a cup of tea and we start the engine; the lock gates open and we are off. Sunrise on the aft.

Destination Bilbao; 200 miles and roughly 40 hours to go, we are fuelled up (450 litres), watered up (1000 litres) and victualed up. Toby dons his life jacket and looks confused. Never been to sea before.

We need to be sure to avoid the French military target practice zone which runs from 3 miles off the coast from the mouth of the Gironde all the way down to Arcachon, so we set a course 50 miles off shore as soon as we pass the lighthouse at the north end of Ile d’Oleron, which has been there since the 1830s. The passage plan will take us on an almost direct southerly route to Bilbao once 50 mile off shore. We pass Ile d’Aix, which is where Napoleon finally departed French soil after Waterloo on his way to St Helena; a sad end for a great leader. We react with a gallic shrug; c’est la vie …

20 miles off shore and we are making good progress averaging 7knots with 2knots of tide pushing us out to sea in a light breeze. The wind dies to a dead calm and then the engine alarm! Engine off immediately and down into the engine room to take a look. Dolphins frolicking below. The engine bay is full of oil. A vacant look on my face. Mind full of expletives, but no clever ideas. Engine was professionally serviced over the winter; this is not a problem of neglect. So; no engine, no wind and no sight of land. The sails just flapping. We are not in any immediate danger, but we need to go back somehow … We radio a passing square rigger, but after enquiring if there is a life threatening situation (negative) they give us the gallic shrug and pass into the haze. Hmm, c’est la vie. We wait for some wind; the forecast had been promising. After perhaps an hour or so, there was a ripple on the water coming from the north, hopes rise … yes, a lift .. We set course for the lighthouse we had passed a couple of hours earlier. 2 knots of wind soon rises to a healthy 12-15 knots and we begin to make progress towards the lighthouse. The tide has turned, so we get help from the current. Things are looking up. Just past the lighthouse is St Dennis d’Orleon that has a small harbour accessible a couple of hours either side of high tide (high tide is at 16:45). We reach the lighthouse about a mile off and the wind drops to nothing again. So again; no engine, no wind so we drift with the current. This time, just a mile off a lighthouse and the rocks on which it sits and flashes warnings to passing ships of the danger of the rocks below. Oh!

After a short while, a sailing boat called Fish Pie is spotted on the AIS. We radio and explain our predicament. They alter course to discuss (how very British). After explaining our plight, with no gallic shrug, we threw the British crew a line and they kindly tow us past the lurking lighthouse and its hidden dangers which are home to lobsters, crabs and numerous wrecks to the mouth of the harbour to St Dennis. We drop anchor in 6m of water. Help is on its way; we had used the becalmed moments to call the engineers that had serviced the engine. They would meet us at St. Dennis. Once on board, Guillaume identified the problem. A broken pipe that sent lubricant from the sump to the turbo under pressure had broken. Reason unknown. As luck would have it, Guillaume just happened to have a complete 80hp perkins diesel engine, which was the same model as ours, in the back of his van. How often does that happen? Anyway, we poach the offending part from this engine and fit onto Sea Star and we are back up and running; clearing up still to do; however.

Finally dinner on the key side; sea food – not much meat around here; just crabs and lobsters from the lighthouse … and a bottle of muscadet. After dinner, Toby enjoys a sunset walk/scamper along the beach before retiring.

Just another day in the life …

We had planned to leave La Rochelle today, and go and sit off Ile de Rey overnight on the anchor, and then move on to St Dennis on Ile d’Oleron tomorrow morning. We would then move on to Bilbao on Wed. However, the weather is not looking great until Wednesday, so as this is supposed to be a pleasure cruise and not an endurance test, we shall leave La Rochelle Wednesday morning and go straight to Bilbao. The sun is forecast to shine … La Rochelle to Bilbao is about a 40 hour gentle sail (about 200nm) and we need to be 30 miles offshore to avoid being used by the French airforce as target practice (there is a no sail zone off the coast near Bordeaux), but we may well hear a sonic boom. Fishing line will be trailed behind the boat to various lures to attract a mackerel, cod, tuna .. whatever … However past experience is that we will catch some sea weed.

40 hors at sea will be a new test for Toby (not sure he can cross his legs for that long), so a new aspect of training will be required.