A Taste of Passage

The diary of a day at sea

Taking advantage of being becalmed in the Ocean Blue

Somehow, at sea, the passing of time seems to be experienced differently to that in other episodes of life to date… Possibly due to the random hours of wakefulness dictated by the watch rota and the practicalities that preoccupy you – the wind, the sails, the omnipresent yet unpredictable roll, water consumption and bananas, to name a few – so it seems somewhat of a challenge to clarify exactly what distinguishes one day from the next. And yet, each day does have a distinct flavour. Bon appetit.

“Arrrrp!” A short, sharp sudden intake of breath as the flash of a red headtorch light hits my retinas.

“Shhhhhhh, shhhhhhh, it’s ok. It’s your watch. The kettles on. Take your time.”

The grogginess of sleep slowly ebbs as I reach for the clothes I stashed a few hours ago in order to be ready and I stumble into the legs of my salopettes praying not to: a) bang my head; b) land accidentally in someone else’s bunk or; c) dislodge any of the multitude of banana hands from their strung stash in the aft cabin. I’d say we’re on an 80% success rate…

We’ve generally been surrounded by clouds reminiscent of what you’d envisage listening to the Orb’s Fluffy Little Clouds track (this cloud formation is quite typical throughout trade wind zones) but the moment when you first glimpse the vast expanse of the starry night sky, or, as on this night, a resplendent full moon is also always a magnificent treat and I need to catch my breath. It’s all the more appreciated after the drizzly squalls of yesterday. It’s funny to think of us being top to toe in wet weather gear after crossing the Tropic of Cancer.

In hushed tones, huddled around the bright orb of the compass, information is relaid to me about how the wind and course have been over the last three hours of watch (we have been exploring whether three or four hours of rolling watch are preferable and trying to ensure we do actually get to spend time with everyone on board) and if any changes in sail are needed while there are more people on deck. Fortunately, things are pretty steady (the trusty self-steering system, fondly known as Henrietta as she is an invaluable crew member, is still at the helm) and there’s not much to report aside from the best place to cast my gaze for shooting stars as I scan the horizon for boats. We’ve seen a grand total of two boats in as many weeks.

“Did you see more phosphorescent dolphins last night? Sounded like a there was quite a lot of excitement from my bunk?!”

“Huh?”… “Ahhhhh, no, I was sat right here against the lifelines and BOOM, it really sounded and felt like something had snapped right next to me.”

“Had it?”

“No, silly that it took me a moment to figure out but it was the stench made me realise as I was looking around: a flying fish had bounced off the canvas right here, less than twenty centimetres from my head. Bam. A perfect circle! Poor fish. And then, when Nono came up on watch and I was relaying this to her, another landed on deck right at the exact moment in the story the fish hit! So we scrabbled round on deck to rescue it and got it back into the sea!” (The girls have taken to playing ‘find the flying fish’ on deck every so often now).

A flying midnight visitor who we only found in the morning

After this chat and the rest of the last watch’s philosophical discussions have come to a gentle close, a flurry of “Bon Nuit” and “Nos Da” follow a descent down the companionway.

The sun beginning to peek out for another day at sea

Dawn gently creeps across the sky and I notice that it’s time to twiddle – somewhat desperately – with the knobs on the SSB radio in the eternal hope of receiving a crisp signal and clear faxed forecast. There seems to be an addictive quality to searching for the buzzes and beeps that denote potential success. A sleepy yet wide-eyed Morla stumbles blearily over with outstretched arms to help listen in on the vintage black telephone receiver so we don’t wake the other sleeping crew.

Nada. Just hazy fuzz. At least I enjoyed some fabulous cuddly company in the process. We try to creep up the hatch quietly. “Maybe, can I have a cracker with butter and jam?” Morla inquires innocently as she snuggles into a bean bag on the deck. With her hunger satiated temporarily and after another cup of tea is savoured, it is time to swap myself out of watch. Kieran, Seren and Morla then go for their VERY gripping daily swim from the bowsprit net.

Ren holding on tight for her morning dip!

This didn’t turn out to be the day we caught a Mahi Mahi (Dolphinfish) longer than Ren is tall, or the day when we were less than 20 feet from gliding over a pilot whale, nor was it Nono’s birthday; nor was it a day when the girls received a story written especially for them from a crew member (the number of talented authors on board make it fully intimidating to write); or when Kieran gave us a recital of Under Milk Wood; nor was it one on which we were becalmed and swam in the great blue ocean, counting the pilot fish accompanying us. Neither was it the day we needed to swap jib sails and discovered a rip that needed quick repair, nor was it the day Ama shaved her head, nor did we catch sight of phosphorescent bullets of dolphins at night.

However, I roused myself from daytime slumber to pop my head out of the hatch and – having somehow dislocated myself from the environment in the increasing heat haze of each day – was once again stunned by just how much blue we’re surrounded by above, below (can it really be 4000m deep?!) and on a complete 360o circumference. I’ve woken up in time to place my guess for the midday distance game. A genuine ripple of excitement can be felt in anticipation of who will be closest given our estimates and comparisons to the preceding days. Nick calculates and Ama gets it bang on with 121 nautical miles. Nice one!

Everyone continues with their chats and projects – Amber can be heard playing the penny whistle up on the foredeck and I read a little more of Jack London’s Le Loup Des Mers in French with Jean-Marc.

It doesn’t feel like long until Nono announces lunch. She has whipped up a delicious lunch of fried rice and veggie wraps, completely ensuring our dominance in the race against ripening vegetables. Funny how delectable it is to normalise daily compulsory guacamole – surely these days won’t last forever?!i We’re definitely more in danger of gout than scurvy on Lilly.

“Watch out! The mayo!”


The beauty of wraps seems partially to be the reduction in washing up requirements and that not everything will be spread across the deck if a wave arrives unannounced, however, there is always a slight tension to meal times as we don’t know what may be sacrificed in the juggle and dive to protect a bowl or jar as irregular swell hits and we always sit half ready for this. We hope Poseidon and Neptune enjoy the pasta and coleslaw we have unexpectedly donated to them. At times it seems they demand more as a wave sweeps away an offering from an unintentionally upturned plate on deck.

“Pencil Bum!” (Lilly’s common name for the Tropic Bird due to their easily distinguishable tail) and our attention is quickly taken aloft. I need to be reminded that if I squeal excitedly about how close she seems to landing on Lilly, it’s never going to happen…ii

And so we transition into late afternoon. Although travelling through time zones, I’m not totally sure whether we taken to eating lunch at half four because of the challenge of cooking when nothing (including you) is at a reliable angle except the gimbled stove top or because our stomachs align better with daylight hours than the watches and clocks we’ve decided not to change.

Nick taking on the coffee preparation challenge

A full belly and the soporific effect of waves gently sloshing the side of Lilly and that hiss of bubbles or Sargasso seaweed make summoning energy for any great project an insurmountable task. We do manage to have a quick round of “Go Fish!” (Nick remodelled the traditional Battleships game to be more fitting for our existence). Every so often I lean over the life lines to remind myself JUST HOW BLUE the sea is (the nightly equivalent is that there really is mind boggling phosphorescence right there next to us…).

Then it is time to do my bit for the Banana Conservation Society. We set sail from El Hierro with at least 650 free bananas stashed as mobiles, in calabashes, in nets or on shelves. We have created quite an imaginative repertoire so far – although it has been quite intense and with a little fibre and potassium overload perhaps:

Banana on muesli; dried bananas; banana beer; banana smoothie; banana porridge; banana cake, banana bread; banana curry; curry with banana; banana chocolate spread; banana jam; good old plain banana; banana flapjack; banana bannocks; banana pancakes; banana tart and not forgetting the Magic Banana of course.iii So, my contribution today: banana brownies with left over porridge.

Before embarking on a cooking project aboard I have discovered it essential to: 1) assess my current Zen level and 2) drastically scale down whichever grand plans of achievement I have. I will be following more of an idea of a recipe and memory of a texture than anything as there are no scales that function on this kind of loll and we’ve got approximately half the required ingredients. I make my plan and adopt the baking position – a wide stance, slightly braced but as relaxed as possible. I need to be ready to lurch for bowls and ingredients scooting unannounced across the galley top as if I’m in some kind of haunted western. As the chocolate melts on the stove, I mull over with Kieran and Amber how a cooking show at sea would work and that it would probably be quite an entertaining winner (no chance for retakes really though). Fortunately for me, the only calamity was wrestling the cupboard door shut when retrieving the baking tray and not quite timing the snatch and grab correctly. All the ingredients made it into the tray. Phew.

Half an hour later I discover, however, that despite the brownies swinging in the self-balancing oven, the brownies managed to end up lop-sided. Not to worry. It feels really good to have prepared a freshly baked midnight treat for everyone on their night watches.

The sun begins to hang low and heads towards the horizon, completing its Lilly leap frog for the day as we tuck into Amber’s adventurous banana curry and Nick’s latest sour dough loaf. Scrumptious. We top this off with a few folk song renditions in the twilight and then decide to drop the fisherman’s sail (the only sail change of the day which gently reminds us that we are indeed sailing this magnificent magic carpet) as the following wind has increased. After tugging the sail onto the deck and stowing it in Pink Turtle, people start drifting off to brush their teeth and head off to rest.

“Nos Da”

“Faites des beau reves”

And the day ends but the cycles and rhythms of life in perpetual floating motion continue.iv

Happily Cruising!

iThey don’t. The last was eaten over two weeks in to the crossing however and two tomatoes lasted a complete month! So impressed by the local producers on El Heirro. Hope they’d be happy to hear how well stocked they made us. Additionally, as an update from a previous post – we were still also enjoying our Galician pumpkins on the trip!

iiA bird did actually land on Lilly on our last evening on the ocean. So lovely to give a little respite to the little fellow. I managed to stay quiet.

iiiLilly recipe book to follow…

ivIf you think this took a long time to read, try crossing an ocean.

Reflections on The Canaries

I had expected to be greeted by a lush vegetated archipelago but instead we arrived at the dry volcanic north face of Lanzarote and the similarly arid, adjacent but quieter island of Graciosa. These stark and dramatic landscapes draw your minds eye to the past with clear scale-able volcanic craters providing a narrative of these islands creation.

Two days after arriving, the anchorage at Graciosa was our setting for a memorable Xmas with songs, food and a late night rave on deck. Santa made it down the hatch. Phew.

Non prevailing winds pushed us on earlier than anticipated so we were soon anchored off Las Palmas on Gran Canaria where Amber had a home in a squat. I experienced Las Palmas as a small, uninspiring city but for all it was a sensory overload (it was the biggest City the girls have ever seen “is this what London’s like?”). It was a reminder of some of the elements of everyday life we appreciate being away from on this trip. Headspace can be hard to find amongst all the people, and cars, and inspiration is not always forthcoming in the predictably homogenized consumerist City Centre. Funny that seeing a Marks & Spencers can make you feel sick of home rather than homesick.

We were still at anchor city-side for New Year’s Eve and after failing to make new friends by midnight the Lilly crew were ready for bed before being brought out of our soporific states by a completely over the top harbour fireworks display. We joined in by shooting a flare towards the oil tankers and had another dance party on deck. Turns out Morla loves dubstep!

We sailed on to La Gomera enthused by the prospect of a return to a more unspoiled environment and the more diverse and unique flora and fauna that the westerly Canary Islands offer on account of their wetter climates.

Our first walk on La Gomera was up the awe inspiring Hermigua Valley, a huge fertile barranco dominated with banana plantations but with fincas nestled on ancient stone terracing. Changes in wind and swell meant we were on the move every few days to find sheltered anchorages until coming to rest at Valle Gran Rey, a small fishing village that has swelled with the influx of transient and permanent German tourists. We had no plan to stay here much more than a week but a month and a half later we were still there. The longer we stayed the richer our experience became as we embedded ourselves in the boat and beach social scene. Especially timely for the girls who joined a multi-national band of beach kids.

The subject of time comes up regularly as we discuss among the crew how long to stay in each place. The benefits of pausing can never be predicted but always seem to be forthcoming. At Valle Gran Rey it began with making friends with two other families on boats; Dave & Georgie on Content and Giovanni & Francesca on La Vent do Alba plus their five little sailors. To borrow Giovanni’s fixed mot du jour, the welcome they gave us was ‘fantastico!’. Them came Maria and Tato with their kids. The wise beyond her years Xiomara(10), the ever twinkling Nur(7) and finally the 2 year old Moi, part laughing buddha part wannabe car mechanic. It’s curious how a child who’s upbringing has been an immersion in nature can develop a side passion in catalytic convertors.

Maria and Tato’s respective primary passions in traditional birthing and sustainable agriculture indicated a commonality in interests and world views but we couldn’t have anticipated forming such strong bonds and there were tears when we ultimately had to say goodbye. Our connection with the family was deepened when they all jumped aboard for a week’s hiatus from Valle Gran Rey when we sailed to La Palma to explore a new island. Our experience there was mixed however.

We were forced to go into a marina to see out some bad weather and if marinas are stuffy environments at the best of times then this one was particularly posh and polished. We stuck out a as a slightly rag tag group on a traditional boat and were soon at the rough end of snotty prejudice from the marina office who tried to kick us out with after only two nights. Maria’s calmness in the face of officialdom idiocy assured we were finally allowed to stay. It seems we were guilty by association with a particularly bohemian boat that we had befriended before entering the marina. This boat was skippered by a strong Romanian woman called Julietta and onboard was her dreadlocked son Anton, her partner and other jean ripped friends. They were deemed beyond the pale by the marina and turned away with a myriad of nonsense excuses. Much discussion prompted on Lilly regarding image. Should you amend your appearance in order to expect fair treatment? Are there acceptable limits on personal expression? Should you adapt to fit in with a society you might deem sick and how much value is there in making snap judgements based on appearance? All questions we explored for hours and quite timely because as I write this (during The Atlantic crossing) various crew members this afternoon put henna Tattoo’s on their faces. How will this impact our reception in the Caribbean? Depends on the taste of the people or officials we meet I suppose, as always beauty and appropriateness will be in the eye of the beholder.

Returning to our time in Valle Gran Rey it was our base from which to explore inland on La Gomera. It is a sensationally beautiful and varied island such that any bus or hire car journey is jaw dropping. It can be other worldly at times when walking and camping in the cloud forest or down by the coast. Truly a slice of paradise at times and this combined with the people we met made Gomera a very difficult island to leave. It became a running joke on the beach that Lilly was perpetually planning to leave ‘in the next few days’.

If there was one element of our interactions in La Gomera that left me feeling a bit cold it was our limited exposure to the local people and culture. Their history is depressingly familiar, violently colonised and ultimately forced to exist under the homogenising influence of modern capitalism. The Gomeran whistling language (of which there are 2,000 different words that can be whistled to communicate across wind swept valleys) was nearly lost if it hadn’t been for a concerted effort to preserve it. There is a huge monument built to celebrate the language for tourists to take photos next to and the same symbol can be bought in the form of trinkets and carvings in gift shops. It’s an uncomfortable juxtapose that the influx of visitors responsible for a culture’s submission can now buy tokens of appreciation in the form of a key ring. On the other hand it might be a reasonable way to celebrate something the Gomerans are proud if. It’s not clear, and we didn’t meet enough Gomerans to get an idea of their perspective.

It was described to us that there are roughly three groups of people on the island. The Gomerans, the Germans and the tourists. A reputation for being insular and protective of their communities, it felt that many of the Gomerans were tucked away inland out of reach of the traveler. A much longer stay would have been needed to start getting exposure to their ways.

There is a tension that we will have to address regularly as we travel further to more varied cultures. The appetite to meet, learn and make connections with people living in different, hopefully more traditional ways balanced with a sensitivity to not want to pollute or disrupt their way of life. How does a belief that everyone should be able to move freely round the world get balanced with the observation that so many communities and cultures have been used and abused with this freedom? Particularly pertinent to us is the effect of tourism. Whilst we might not be contributing to the high end tourism that steals locals rights to access their own beaches (which is the case on some Caribbean islands) our desire to see distant lands is not impact free and the question for us is how to do this sensitively and aim to have a positive impact? We will have to feel this out as we go.

As a reflection on the time on Gomera I found the nature to be immersive and inspiring but amid concerns of a planet being driven willfully over a cliff it was the friendships and time spent with amazing people that reinvigorated the potential beauty of the human spirit. To the friends we made in Gomera, thanks for this gift. Hasta luego y besos

Pictures above include a 300kg Tuna brought in by fishermen in El Hiero, fabulous wild camping, carrying a huge piece of scrap bronze out of a barranco, 16litres of beautiful palm syrup, an inspired piece of scrimshaw by Nono and mountain biking round volcanoes.

Adi and James became friends and also potential future seafarers (we hope to see you on the water one day!). Plus Nono sewing a new lee cloth, a good haul from spear fishing, Rowena helming us towards La Palma, free factory reject bananas, a blow hole rainbow, a friends sympathetic illegal dwelling in the hills of Gomera plus a lovely interaction with a farmer in La Palma that insisted on giving us free produce.

Lucia and Simon became close friends during our time at Valle Gran Rey. Talented linguists but unfortunately due to Simon’s stomach not new candidates for a life at sea! One afternoon on Lilly at anchor confirmed this so we will have to seek you out on land one day in the future!! Some other of the other pics were taking by a talented photographer that we hung out with and another is a snap of a tortilla party at Maria and Tato’s!


Westward Ho!

We have a lot to write and many beautiful pictures to show of our stay in the Canaries, but I look forward to putting that together during the coming weeks when we will be crossing the Atlantic from ElHierro, first taking a SouWesterly course to find the more reliable Easterly trade winds and setting a course for the West Indies… our exact destination still undecided, either St. Vincent or Dominica. We’ve been stocking up with masses of tins, fruit,veg., coffee, olive oil, avocados, squash, lots of free bananas and pineapples, flour, pasta, eggs, wine and beer, Lilly lockers have never been so stuffed! We’ll have 800litres of fresh water – which if the passage were to take upto 40 days would be 20 litres per day between 9 of us. With diesel tanks also full with 350 litres (having used about 250litres of Bruces central heating oil so far) we will be able to motor for about 100 hours, or 400 miles at 4 knots. The hope is of course that we wont use any so its carried more for the reason of misshap – should we have a problem with the rig for example.

We as crew are getting on great and very excited about this time at sea; sunrises and sets, the moon waxing and waning, the cosmos rising behind us and setting ahead.

Hasta luego, from Kieran, Nono, Seren, Morla, Amber, Jean-Marc, Amanda, Rowena and Nick.

Thursday 18th March – another departure

(A note from Steve, just to pass on the current news…)

Today Lilly and crew cast off from the Canaries and head towards the Caribbean, either Dominica or St. Vincent and the Grenadines. It’s a distance of about 3,000 miles in a straight line – which they won’t be trying to follow. The traditional route is to head a bit south until picking up the NE trade winds which should then carry them all the way.

If they’ve made slower progress than originally planned it’s at least partly because they’ve re-discovered the joys of just being somewhere, of meeting people and getting involved in local life: if the urge to move has faded then the compensations have been more than enough!

We can expect to hear from them again – in, maybe, a month, or so …

Portugal to The Canaries

After two false starts we stowed Lilly ready for our longest passage so far, 600 odd miles to The Canaries. Heading South adjacent to The Moroccan coast felt like the first step towards lands truly exotic. The prospect of sailing to a volcanic archipelago far away where bananas, mangoes and avocados grow aplenty struck a romantic internal chord. What will it feel like to not see land for five days plus? Portugal had begun to feel cold as Autumnal weather had turned wintery for the third stopover of the trip.

The forecast wasn’t ideal but with light winds expected rather than anything too strong so thoughts were towards whether it might be a long frustrating passage as opposed to an uncomfortable or overly boisterous one.

As it was, Lilly did well to slowly move us roughly in the right direction most of the time. With different auxiliary sail arrangements Lilly was most fabulously decorated with the square sail, up for the first time since leaving Wales. She was a picture gently tickling down wind climbing and descending majestic, massive slow swell from the north west; distant echoes from a storm at that moment thumping UK shores.

One hiccup from the gods were some headwinds for an afternoon that pushed us onto a bad course such that a ferry bound for The Canaries crossed our course at a perfect 90 degree angle. Time to heave to and have tea.

The sparse passing wildlife was evidence of warmer waters with turtles and flying fish the latest to delight the crew lucky enough to be on deck at the time. Dolphins remain regular visitors, most enchantingly at night when leaving a trail of phosphorescent sparkles behind them as they dart round the boat. Who screams louder on these occasions, Rowena or the girls?

Twice we were completely becalmed. No wind, no movement in any direction just magic. Beautiful oily contoured water undulating and pitting in the swell. Nothing to do but appreciate the beauty, then swim, then chat and laugh and eat. The tranquility changes only when a breath of wind returns and Lilly begins to glide again. On both occasions it felt too early to leave this suspended reality where thoughts of reaching our destination or moving towards the ‘goal’ dissolve. Concerns of a long passage don’t exist in this state and all the meditative qualities of sailing are present just without the need to actually sail. Truly memorable moments.

No wind provides a rare opportunity to view Lilly from afar under sail on the kayak….with 4,000 metres of water below

On the fifth day, when becalmed, we no longer had a long range wind forecast. so we entered a different mode. One where the barometer is scrutinised more carefully and senses are heightened towards changes in the winds and clouds. An interesting mental exercise in letting go of expectations and allowing things to unfold as they will. A tiny insight into the more fatalistic experience of sailing before the days of accessible forecasts and passageweather.com!

As it was that evening, 100 miles from Graciosa, an increasingly firm wind had us heading 7 knots in the right direction by sunrise. All was well until the wind strengthened and we begun to get headed. Momentary concern. Would we be prevented from making landfall a teasing 30 miles off shore? Fortunately not and Lilly, well heeled, thrust us in to the lee of Lanzarote where we anchored and dived into the noticeably warmer waters. Time to start processing arriving in this humbling dramatic landscape. The hypnotic spell of the 3 hours on and 6 hours off watch rota broken.

Seren guiding us all towards the gap between Lanzarote and Graciosa
Our first Canarian sunset, hazed by Saharan dust blown in by the Easterly winds


Reflecting on the past three and a half months since leaving Wales to sitting here, rolling at anchor off Sagres at the South West corner of mainland Europe, there are 2 overriding features of the trip which come to mind. Namely the forced slow pace of travel, and secondly the significance of our diverse social interactions.

The predominant winds down this coast should generally be Northerly – therefore we imagined a brief stop, if at all in Galicia before nipping down the coast to the Algarve to stock up before continuing onto the Canaries… but it wasn’t to be, We spent over a month in this beautiful part of Spain, the last 9 days in the Ria Aldan, off ‘Praia de Castinieras’, a lovely little sandy beach behind a wooded headland and behind an expansive mussel farm – wooden crisscross rafts about 20m by 20m with hundreds of hanging ropes on which the mussels grow.


With no favourable winds on the forecast, Rowena, Fi and Chris continued their shore adventures with some friends of Rowena, helping them with renovating a large house inland where they hoped to make a eco holiday lodge place… Jean-Marc, Nick and we 4 enjoyed a very relaxed 9 days on board, these times where theres a safe anchorage and nothing too pressing on the agenda, I find blissful, this is what I’ve missed!

Covid times were becoming more evident – apart from wearing masks ashore all has been pretty normal for us, here though town was especially quiet, bars were closed as was the local playpark much to the girls dismay! Though Morla couldn’t quite see the problem as the safety tape shutting off the park was too high… she could simply walk under it!

On one of Jean-Marcs walks ashore he noticed a wee field brimming with pumpkins and on a second visit with abit of loitering around the nearby house, the owner emerged with warm greetings – “Of course, help yourselves, shame you dont have a car to take more!”

On the last day we returned with a Nick baked cake and were showered with yet more pumpkins, after laughs, smiles and Nono understanding most of what they said, we returned to our beach.

Just as we jumped in Shelduck to row back to Lilly, a guy came running down the beach waving a sheet of paper and a bag, we turned back to the beach to see what he wanted and were given the note which read:

“Hello, I love to see your boat from the window of my house. I would like to give me and my family a gift so that you can celebrate your stay in this Ria of Aldan, Galicia. If you still do not leave I will bring it to the beach another day you collect”

obviously from some translate app as he spoke no English… In the bag were 2 T-shirts for Seren and Morla. He was sad to hear we were leaving the next morning but made us promise to meet him on the beach 8am before leaving… This time he came with his sister who’d baked an amazing traditional Galician cake plus bottles of wine and apple juice.

Its hard to describe the feeling of being recipients of these kinds of such random acts of kindness, from people who had no care for what type of people we were or where we were from… but they are profound! One immediate sensation is that you want to recipricate – to find the oppertunity to give someone the same pleasure, you feel happiness, enriched – it seems so easy to make the world a better place yet so easily forgotten, and the desire to recipricate exemplifies so clearly the ripple effect of being kind and how important it is.

It was just 3 days sailing down the Portuguese coast before winds dictated that we stop in at Sines, 50 miles South of Lisbon and the last good harbour before Cap St, Vincent on the Souwest corner of Portugal. Despite the mass of industry surrounding in harbour, the anchorage and small marina off the picturesque town and beach were nice and the industry soon forgotten. With no ideal winds on the horizon we decided to base ourselves here while missioning and exploring ashore.

Chris once again realized he had friends living nearby so he and Fi were soon whisked away while we set too researching car hire, flour mills, olive oil producers and vineyards.

The flour was an early success, Chris’ friends directed us to a small mill which only 2 years previous had stopped using wind power, at the end of a rough track were 2 old boys with floury aprons, happy to sell us 60kg of excellent flour.

We thought we’d lucked out with the olive oil too when on enquiring at a lovely veggie cafe in town were told we could tag onto their order which was coming a few days later, it lacked a little adventure but at 12 euros per 5 litres was too good to be true. We started seeing dollar signs… olive oil cargo by sail…! We ordered 100litres.

Close scrutiny of the label a few days later revealed it was indeed too good to be true, in fact it was mostly sunflower oil with mushed up olive residue added, it tastes great but its not olive oil, ‘Rodney you plonker!’

Jean-Marc and Nick had better success a few days later when they found a producer selling the real deal so got another 30 litres – we won’t be short of oil for a while! Plus they found a vineyard selling delicious boxed wine!

They also returned with Amber, a great bubbly friend of Nono’s from Cornwall who had spent the last fortnight walking with 3 horses, a mule and a friend from North Portugal heading for the south coast; she was keen to join us to the Canaries and is onboard as I write.

Before sailing down this coast of Portugal we were receiving alot of messages, many with news articles attached, regarding Orca whales attacking sailing boats. It was of mild concern, mixed with the appeal of seeing these beautiful creatures; instead, nearing Sines where the most recent attacks had been , we were surrounded by what must have been a hundred or so playful dolphins. In the boat yard in Sines however was a german boat without a rudder and another 28 footer in the marina. We befriended these 3 young French guys – who were pretty blasé about what must have been a pretty traumatic experience – 3 Orcas visited them at night nudging their small, light boat, they thought they’d got off O.K. til 20mins later they returned, this time targeting the rudder til it broke, Max describes wrestling over the rudder blade so as not to lose it completely, with an Orca… he accepted defeat! They also describe being spun 360 degrees by the playful mammals and seeing the thin hull flexing as the whales nudged it. It sounded terrifying, but seeing how light their boat was and how small the rudder fixings, I felt encouraged that big heavy Lilly B would be absolutely fine, plus that our rudder is a strong extension of our long keel. They continued at the first oppertunity and Rowena bravely went along for their overnight trip to the Algarve, then hitched back to join us.


We spoke to a marine biologist who had been following these attacks and she had no clear explanation but it seemed it was the same 3 young Orcas, they feed on tuna in this area which are heavily fished here… is this payback? She did mention that their wasnt so much evidence of them being underfed unlike in Hawai where 80 odd had died recently, of hunger…!

Finally the forecast looked good to head South, we rounded the Cape St Vincent one sunny afternoon, deciding to stop in at Sagres, 3 miles East of the Cape, just for a couple of days to let a strong blow with massive swells pass over (look at nov/dec surf at Nazare on youtube!)


Finally on the 5th Dec. We were ready to go to the Canaries, on starting the engine I thought it sounded a little strange (we’d had problems with the starter motor a week or so previous with it getting stuck engaged) I went to start it again…click! Nothing. It was another 12 days in Sagres before we got a new one sent out from the U.K. having had no luck trapsing round scrappies and stores in Lagos and Portimao.

By now I was becoming quite philosophical about thes delays and the unplanned slow nature of our travels, we had no fixed date when we had to be anywhere in particular, it was just a fabricated plan, but a plan in my mind none the less… so it took a concious effort to be at peace with these factors out of our control, and enjoy where we were at… and what was also becoming evident was that our lingering in places was bring us into richer interactions with others – the community of friends in Brittany, visiting friends of Chris and Fi and others of Nono in Galicia, the pumpkin lady, the very kind brother and sister on the beach, and now in Sagres we befriended Chris who ran a dive centre there – he helped us alot with lifts, info and postal address for the starter motor, Nick and others went and helped him with some patio work, it was a great interaction, plus a fisherman who gave us 2 big Octopi… many of these meetings wouldnt have happened or would’ve been too brief if we’d just passed through.

It was the 17th Dec. that we fitted the new starter motor and left mainland Europe behind, On board were Nick, Rowena, Amber, Fi, Jean-Marc, Nono, Seren and Morla and me, Chris sadly left us in Sagres as he was missing winter in Cornwall too much!

Galicia: an extended stay..

A beautiful morning to leave the Vilaine River with intentions to cross Biscay
Full mainsail dealing with a fresh breeze

The time had come to leave Brittany as the winds became (sort of) favourable to go south across the Bay of Biscay heading to either Spain or Portugal. Despite beautiful sunshine we found the wind not as hoped and with a worsening forecast the decision was made to instead anchor after 8 hours of sailing on the island of Hoedic 20 miles off the Brittany coast.

A few hours off the Brittany coast
The girls left mum and dad onboard to go exploring the sandy beaches of Hoedic before we all met up for a picnic taking shelter under Shelduck
Looking back towards Lilly with Spain 300 miles beyond

After 2 nights at Hoedic and much deliberating the decision was made to cross Biscay now and prepare for an uncomfortable crossing rather than wait at least ten days for another chance. The boat was prepared and we left in torrential rain.

Quick progress south with no Main, just a reefed Foresail (150 miles in a 24 period with this arrangement)
13 kg tuna caught on a line just as we crossed the Atlantic shelf where the depth drops from 130m to over 4,000m

After three nights the winds seemed dicey to round Cape Finistere so landfall was instead made in Cedeira on the north Galician coast.

Things starting to feel more tropical, apart from the icey water
Shelduck (bit of a poser) a world away from the muddy Estuary
Day sailing from Cedeira to Camineras
Very strong winds and huge swells meant we had over a week to enjoy Camineras and Muxia
A good day to be walking not sailing
Seren and Morla hiked the 10miles to see the Capo Vilano lighthouse on the Costa da Morte

After rounding Finisterre the weather improved and we continued to take small hops down the Galician coast. With consistent Southerly winds we have been unable to consider going further South. The benefit has been some beautiful experiences and adventures in Galicia, a region that we nearly sailed right past.

Provisioning conveniently in Muros, the first traditionally picturesque Spanish town we’d visited
Despite hours of hassle from Spanish officialdom we were permitted to anchor off the island of Salvora, a national park
With our own private harbour and beach…..
Yes the water is still too cold…time to go further south….