Revised: 17 December 2008

"Spearhead" News - the cruise's first stage

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Foreword
Spearhead is an Achilles 9 metre, built in 1977 and completed from kits provided by the builders, Butler Mouldings, by the Sanders family at their then home near Southampton. I bought her from David Sanders in March 2006, lying on the Hamble, and with a lot of assistance from the selling agents (Trefor and Tziona Jones) and Brian at The Elephant Boatyard, got her into a sailable condition by the following October. Skipping all the details here, I have effectively a mechanically new boat in the old, very sound hull, but there are still a lot of desirable inessentials left out for the present, not to mention such matters as sail renewals for the future. The objective in going to all this trouble and expense is to do some further blue water cruising, returning home by other means to Oban for a time each summer and if otherwise required, but leaving Spearhead in some delectable location ready to continue. Ultimately we will probably sail home to Oban, so this could be thought of as just a slightly longer-than-usual delivery trip.

The start 9th-10th October 2006
Shortly after High Water on Monday, 9th October we cast off from The Elephant Boatyard, motored down the river to fill the diesel tank, and then set off in earnest to see how far we could get in a month, as I had to be back home for 11th November. Initial progress wasn't brilliant and we had to motor against the changing tide to anchor temporarily off Yarmouth. After a short kip, it was with some reluctance that we continued after the 0048 forecast, South backing Southeast 5-6, which didn't sound any too encouraging, especially as it was raining. To make the best of it, I decided to head West and round the far corner of the Casquets TSS, where I set a waypoint, before heading directly for Ushant.

Fortunately, the wind was not as strong as forecast (it even had holes in it) so we just plugged along on course under full sail. Two whales were seen heading in the opposite direction in close formation. Approaching the waypoint that evening, the genoa shook off its tack shackle and I had to run briskly downwind whilst finding and fitting a replacement, so we overshot the exact point by nearly 2 miles. Then I altered course to port, onto the rhumbline of 220 degrees, close reaching on port tack under Hydrovane, with the tiller lashed. Both genoa and main were part-reefed as the wind was now at the lower end of Force 5. That was shortly after 1900 – masthead tricolour light on.

A fright in the night 11th October 2006
The evening passed quickly enough – there was quite a lot of shipping to keep the Sea-Me busy, and it seemed to be working because nobody came within a mile, not even the fishing boats. More interesting was the weather because there was quite a spectacular electrical storm in the direction of the Channel Islands and occasionally overhead. The wind eased to a 4, then 3 and I considered unreefing, but rejected the idea because we weren’t in a hurry, there might come a squall from the thunderstorm, and anyway it improved visibility from inside. We were making about 4 knots and exhibiting only the masthead light. With nothing in sight, I decided to take "20 winks", woke up with the kitchen timer and took a look round from inside, without seeing anything. I checked the course and track – still bang on the rhumbline. The Sea-Me showed that there must be a few radars around. It was just after 01.10 BST. I was sitting on the port saloon berth considering what best to do next when a very loud horn blast galvanised me into the cockpit.

One look round the genoa showed a large vessel behind it coming up Channel. By the time I had reached the tiller, I had rejected the possibility of tacking - it takes too long with the self-steering and meant turning to port and sailing along with the threat. Also, we were reaching, so could not be sure of completing the tack. Whatever I did with the helm, after I had unfastened it, would be immediately counteracted by the self-steering anyway, so I went straight to the pushpit and turned the vane, which I never clamp solid, through 90 degrees. Fortunately the Hydrovane's own rudder was up to this challenge and we immediately started to bear away to starboard. Meanwhile the ship's bow had appeared round my forestay (still hooting) and I became concerned as to how wide her beam was... I leaped back to the tiller, freed it and used the main rudder to finish off the turn, finding that we had less than a boatlength clearance when we came to the parallel hull. We continued thus down her side, and I waved at the bridge but couldn't make anyone out. When we got to her stern I was unable to read her name (other than that it seemed very long, possibly three words) against the deck lights. There was no lettering down the side; she was not heavily laden. After due thought, I would estimate her size as approximately 90,000 tons. At the time she seemed to go on for ever.

I hadn't seen her because, looking under the genoa, her lights were 'way above my plane of vision, so I was very grateful for the warning that was given me, late though it was. Had it been any later, or had I been unable for some reason to get to the controls as quickly as I did, or indeed done the wrong thing in the initial surprise, I would almost certainly not be telling you about it now. However, I still wonder how the ship came to be in such a potentially disastrous situation in view of my use of the radar target enhancer. We should have been displayed as a target on his screen for the best part of an hour. Had we been “cluttered out”? It didn’t seem all that rough to me at the time. Could we have been “cancelled” because no masthead light could be made out? Possible, but unlikely. Perhaps he thought that we were a smaller motor vessel on his port side, and he therefore was the Stand-on vessel? Could be…. but not very convincing. The most likely scenario is that there happened to be no-one on the bridge looking out in the right direction until the last moment – so my survival (and Spearhead’s) is down to pure, fortunate chance. Two singlehanders crossing?!

Ushant - Camariñas 12th - 15th October 2006
Having survived that unscathed, we passed inside Ushant the following night and scooted across Biscay in another 3 days. I then thought to keep on going and see where we finished up, but as we came to (the very appropriately named) Cabo Villano the weather veered S and freshened up, and the furling genoa wouldn't. So it seemed wisest to pull into Camariñas and straighten things out, and it blew for 5 days. I met up with other boats heading south, notably a Scots crew from Lossiemouth in a Finngulf 37, and thereafter we seemed to be tied together with elastic. They were heading for Las Palmas de Gran Canaria for the ARC.

Camariñas - Bayona (or Baiona in the local lingo) 20th - 21st October 2006

A small weather window appeared after the 5 days and we dashed forth, round Cabo Finisterre, and then stretched for Bayona. The "window" broke down before I got there, and blew the windicator off at the masthead, rained about 2 inches worth in half an hour and blotted out all the lights of the town that had been clearly visible earlier. However, this time the genoa did furl and thanks to GPS, I knew both where I was and which way to go, so we arrived to find serried ranks of small boat fishermen anchored in the light of early dawn in the lee of the parador busily "enjoying" their sport. It took another 5 days of really quite Argyllian weather before we were able to sally forth again. Cars were washed off the streets in one of the suburbs and piled up like dominoes on end against a gatepost, according to the local paper, so clearly things weren't quite normal.

There, having dodged the worst of the overfalls outside the entrance, we set full sail and headed west for Vilamoura. This was because that is where the nearest Yanmar agent is, and the new engine was rapidly approaching 50 hours' running time when, to maintain its guarantee, it has to be checked-over and serviced. Also, having failed to get the WiFi in the laptop to work in Faro, I wanted to try somewhere a bit more with-it. Returning to the sail here, all did not go very well because, with about nine miles to go, the weather played up with a front of thundery showers and a veering wind, which did something extraordinary and managed to catch the Hydrovane off-guard for the first time ever, then I went to the heads and got (slightly) seasick, and finally the GPS, although it was receiving lots of satellite signals, began to fail to calculate the resulting fixes. I decided that this voyage should be terminated before anything worse went wrong and we motored-in for another hour, finally arriving in the dark at 8.48 pm, so we spent the night on the reception pontoon. Today, Wednesday, the engineering part has been successfully completed and the WiFi problem is beginning to be cracked (although I still can't send eMails), and perhaps tomorrow the GPS situation will be in hand too. At least, tonight, we are plugged into luxurious mains electricity and can indulge in lots of lights and computer charging aboard! The nearest point of Lanzarote is now only 541 nautical miles away on a bearing of 211° - perhaps we'll get there yet.

Vilamoura - La Graciosa 6th to 13th February 2007
With our engine checked, a new GPS "active antenna" installed in place of the old Decca aerial on the pushpit and the replacement Hawk windicator vane properly mounted on the VHF aerial (it had been lacking since our arrival in Bayona) at the masthead, we found the morning of Tuesday, 6th February, looked set fair for a sail with mainly blue sky and a modest northerly breeze. So we departed our berth and booked out at the office, then thought to take a look at the latest weather forecasts in the (free) internet room adjacent. Ooh-er - slight error here,... I should have done that first - but it's a long walk round from berth C8; that's my excuse and I'm sticking with it. Said forecast showed a little low running into the Morroccan coast, with resulting SW winds up to Force 6 but, looking at it carefully, it then evaporated and NE winds would come in, starting first close to the African coast. So we went initially pretty well sticking to the rhumb-line, then slowly forced off to the East of it, then relying on the forecast carrying on until we actually crossed the 20 metre sounding off Cap de Mazagan (S of Casablanca). It did get somewhat wet 'n windy while this was going on, and at one stage on the Wednesday afternoon, when the genoa had been eased to reef it further, the leech tabling burst its stitches, so a sail change became necessary before really serious damage ensued. This could have been quite nasty, with what seem like several acres of genoa having to be unfurled, hauled down, detached from its various ropes and then taken astern for stowage, but fortunately the weather treated me kindly and got no worse and inside 2 hours we were beating more happily along under the Working Jib instead. Things inside got only moderately damp and window leakages were negligible. Almost every day we had visitations of dolphins in schools of up to 10 and I must get some means of identifying the species because there seem to be several on this run and it would be nice to know which was what.
Anyway, the stratagem of sticking closer to Africa seemed to work, and after a low point on Thursday, things improved to a really magical night of stars on Friday. On Saturday and Sunday we were mostly running goose-winged with the jib but on the Monday, emboldened by very gentle conditions, I experimented for the first time with the cruising 'chute and had it up before sunrise and down only at sunset. This is quite a colourful sail and appeared to cause quite a lot of curiosity amongst the denizens of the deep. We had a couple of dolphins, who didn't stay after earlier visits, and I was just thinking "That's odd..." when the reason became apparent in the form of a pilot whale. He cruised up from astern, then took up station mostly on our port beam - the side the 'chute was on - and stayed for over an hour. Mostly he came up very much on station, but once on the starboard side, and once he came up close astern, passing diagonally to the left. Since I was sitting on the pushpit, camera in hand, awaiting the next appearance, I got sprayed with whale breath (I'm sure deliberately) and sniffed to see if it was as fishy as its reputation - but either this was a whale free of halitosis or my sense of smell is even worse than I thought: I couldn't distinguish anything. Leaping back and forth to the backstay so often, I thought I had better make it more comfortable to hang on to, so fitted it with a plastic roller same as those fitted to the shrouds and lifelines on Spring Run. I was so engaged with this that I think my pilot took the huff at being ignored - I heard him make a fairly close pass and that was the last of him!
Now I should make the great confession - I was running the engine for 2 hours every day to charge the batteries. The extra electronic gear has to be kept running if it is to be any use and I resolved after my bulk-carrier incident that there was to be no sailing about this time without the appropriate lights (and the nights get darker even in summer as one goes south). Actual timing of the charging is left to circumstances, but is usually about sunset; I have to put the engine into gear to get the revs up to a useful level (the disengagement knob has been seized since long before my time - that's a little job to be done somewhere); initially I tried it at 2500 rpm, and have now settled on 2000 rpm which gives about 4½ knots if we aren't doing that already. I can then "make free" with the electricity and charge about lit up like a cruise liner - for a little while anyway!

We reverted to jib for the night as, if we went too quickly there was a risk of arriving at the north end of Lanzarote while it was still dark, but as it was we timed our dawn arrival to perfection and even found a catamaran stooging around that had apparently arrived too soon and followed it in. There was a shift in the wind to the east with the dawn and this caused some of the famous Canaries "acceleration" off the very impressive cliffs at this end of Lanzarote, closely followed by a total calm as we passed down the Estrecho del Rio, so there was about 10 minutes' more motoring to get into Caleta del Sebo than there would otherwise have been.

Since arriving, while not ignoring the attractions of the place, especially some of the beaches, I have been steadily doing little jobs, e.g: stopping a leak from one of the water bag connectors, sewing up the genoa leech, re-instating the sail on the roller forestay, better screws to hold on one of the new "spy" windows, improving the galley joinery and making stops to keep my seat-back cushion in place when we're close-hauled. Oban readers may remember Peter Gooch, who used to teach at Oban High and also did sailing alonga Ian Beith, he's here too in a big red steel ketch called Rionnag from Skye. Externally his boat looks fine, but the internal fitting out will be going on for a long time yet - he's booked himself in here for the next 9 months!

It's just 5 years almost to the day since I was here last aboard Spring Run and I wrote it up in that log at the time. Since then Caleta has doubled in size again (but lost the bank at least temporarily) but does now boast a proper Internet café. The Land-Rover population has doubled. The rest of the island seems totally unchanged and still very attractive. The mooring dues, due to the lack of laid-on amenities like electricity and water, must be the cheapest around (it's less than €4 per day for us) and, if I didn't have other things in mind, the temptation to stay long-term like Peter is immense. However, I must make a move fairly soon........

La Graciosa - Puerto Calero 24th February 2007
Today we made the break and, in only lightly-clouded weather and a Force 4 northeaster (trade wind) set off from Caleta del Sebo just shortly after 10. We had to make three tacks to windward to get out of the Estrecho, then eased the sheets to a beam reach that eventually became a run as we passed down the curve of the coast. Having received a text shortly before departure, I thought to answer it as we passed along the Malpais de la Corona (for those that know the island), and boast of the excellent conditions, but there was too much of the eyes down and not enough on the scenery as I did so, with the result that exactly an hour after easing sheets there I was being seasick AGAIN! Too long in port, obviously. However, I busied myself with things on deck and there was no recurrence. As the wind drew round to dead astern, we ran wing-and-wing, then gybed and it became obvious that the main wasn't really helping all that much, so I furled it and we still continued at a good six knots. Further down we came to the Costa Teguise, which seemed very much alive with numerous wind-surfers blasting back and forth. There being no option, I just had to sail through their midst and hope that there were no collisions. To keep my end of the sport up, I sat on the pushpit (handy for the Hydrovane) and waved food and drink at any that came close enough. Then we dodged round the Arrecifé reefs, where I note that the Gran Hotel (Lanzarote's one and only skyscraper) is now a creation of blue and white vertical stripes and not readily recognised for the cream with jutting, dark brown, balcony blocks that preceded it. After the airport and Puerto del Carmen it was coming for 5 o'clock, and from previous experience I know that it would be well after dark before we got round Punta Papagayo to go to Marina Rubicon, so we just came in here for old time's sake as much as anything. There is now some number of super-yacht berths just inside the entrance and keelboat and dinghy parking compounds above it, but the technical attractions now include WiFi (for free, or at least nothing extra) on all the pontoons, and likewise mains electricity. A great change from my last few nights, but then you have to pay for it - more than 4 times as much! Correspondingly, I expect we'll be gone tomorrow - how about lunch at anchor off Papagayo beach?

Puerto Calero - Marina Rubicon 25th February 2007
That was a good idea - and, if I may say so, carried out to perfection. We left Puerto Calero at noon, with a brisk northerly to take us, ran with genoa only again (getting very decadent) to round the rock off Punta Papagayo at half past one, sheeted in and were parked off my favourite beach well before 1400. The sun shone nicely and the chance was taken to improve my tan but, sadly, there was no point in blowing up the dinghy and going ashore because there was a big swell working its way in from the west and crashing thunderously on rocks and sand every 15 seconds or so. Not many people were risking going in the water at all - and there were in fact remarkably few for a Sunday anyway; truly it is the off season! Up anchor at 1630 (that is where this boat gets to be hard work) and arrived in this new marina at 1735. The reception pontoon is right underneath a well-frequented eatery, so if you're going to make a botch of berthing this isn't the place to do it - I thought I carried off the manoeuvre with the offshore breeze with reasonable success, due to using my usual standby - a short, midships line from the toe-rail. We get WiFi here too, but not for free; so far I have only checked that there is a signal to latch onto. This evening the walk to my usual dining place was longer than usual - half an hour's brisk march each way - but I got a good reception and a good bellyfull of roast lamb with mint sauce! A day off from the boat is in prospect for tomorrow then I think it will be Fuerteventura next: that may mean a lapse in updates if, as I suspect, internet access is far between. We seem to have a persistent High to the west of us for some time to come, so I might as well go south and west while it's still easy, then hope for a change to bring me back again next month.

Marina Rubicon - Corralejo 27th February 2007
Now we change to another island, and this is as far south as I got in Spring Run last time. It's not a great leap, between two ferry ports and almost exactly the same distance as from Oban to Craignure, In this case it is across the Estrecho de la Bocayna which, unusually for the Canaries, is only 20 to 30 metres deep (rather less than Oban Bay). That means that it pulls in the swells from both sides, if any are running at all, and today, although the wind was dead aft, we had a nasty lop coming at us from both quarters. We left at 1600, trying to get the best from the WiFi that we'd paid for and doing maintenance to various bits of boat and mainsail, and proceeded to rock and roll, pitch and yaw, leap and crash our way across for 2 hours to Corralejo, where we've anchored. The place is still surrounded by picturesque foaming breakers everywhere you look and suffering still too from tower cranes hard at work everywhere else. I'm sure it'll be lovely when they stop. I've made a shopping trip to the Hiper Dino ashore and will now be coasting down the SE side of Fuerteventura for the next two-three days.

Corralejo - Puerto del Castillo 28th February 2007
This place is also known as Caleta del Fuste and is as far south as I've ever been by any means before. From now on it's all new! We got here almost entirely by sail, only using the Yanmar for the last quarter of a mile in, and to select and get into our berth. By then it was dark, as we didn't get away from Corralejo until 1500 and it is about 25 miles as the sea goes. We had much the same wind, all plain sail and the seas from just the one quarter, which made life easier. Not a lot happened - no cetaceans seen, three yachts beating the other way, and one coaster heading into the island's capital, Puerto del Rosario, from the south - a quick "lights on and the Sea-Me" for that one, as it was just getting dusk. Everything was shut by the time we were installed - so no night life to report on!

Puerto del Castillo - Gran Tarajal 1st March 2007
Another very similar little coastal hop once I'd got away; the main story is how that was achieved, or nearly not..... The pontoon I was on was the one close up to the main breakwater. To get off it, one walks along to the shore end, up a ramp beside the pirate ship and tame sea-lions and, rather unusually, through a door into the end of the office portacabin and thence out the office main door to the outside world. That's the easy way - going in the opposite direction one needs (and had been given) a security card to operate the locks on both the doors from the landward side. In the morning, when I went ashore, there was no-one in the office. Later on, when I was back in the cockpit, the Capitán del Puerto hailed me from a bike on the breakwater and, speaking fair English, said to wait for him - he would come to me with the paperwork. So I waited and titivated the boat, polished windows, etc. Eventually he came with the usual form, having meantime been acting as Capitán of the Yellow Submarine, and I was left the form to fill, while he did another trip in his Yellow Submarine.
Then he returned for the form which I had not yet done and, since I was intending to leave soon and he had yet another trip in the YS, we agreed that I would push the form and security card under the inner office door before going. I filled in the form, went to the portacabin, stuck the form under the office door, made a brief shopping expedition ashore, returned to the portacabin, opened the door onto the pontoon, skidded the card under the office door beside the form, and the wind blew the exit shut before I had gathered up the shopping! Now I could only get out by going "ashore" and at the risk of getting locked out by two doors instead of just the one, so I opted to fish for the card, which I couldn't see. The gap under the door was too narrow to be able to get my comb through, and I was reduced to inspecting the lobby cupboard and noticeboard to see what might do the trick. There were basically only bits of paper and much groping with an A3 laminated notice was totally unsuccessful. After more than half an hour, fortunately, another berth-holder appeared to go for a fishing trip, so finally we were released from Puerto del Castillo!

Gran Tarajal - Morro Jablé 2nd March 2007
There doesn't seem to be a lot to GT - the harbour, from which they used to run ferries, is at the west end and there's a sandy beach in front of the rest of it. Above that it has tones of San Francisco: there are streets laid out on a grid system on quite a steep hillside and going up or down the only level bits are the actual widths of the streets on the contour. No tramcars, unfortunately, but car springs could still have a very hard time of it! At least the developers seem to have given the place the pass-by, so it is genuine Fuerteventura. I went for a short walkabout with camera and purely by chance found a decent chandlery - rare sight in the Canaries, so I went in and bought some blocks and rope so I can get myself to the masthead. They didn't have a long enough bit of rope of the right diameter, so I had to await its arrival in the afternoon. That delayed our departure until 4 p.m. At least there was power laid-on alongside the wall, so I was able to charge up the computer and get things right up-to-date on it in the meantime. For our sail we had endless sunshine and the breeze continuing from the northeast, but I made the initial mistake of keeping too close to the shore and hills and lost it awhile. Heading out cured that but, it being rather hazy, meant I couldn't see so much detail. The general scene had a lot in common with the West Highlands, if you can imagine them with almost no vegetation - pockets of habitation, mostly painted white, with large expanses of hills in between.

The rocks were often almost the same colour as heather. Anyway, the hills tapered off to a low-lying bit - actually the isthmus between the main island and the Jandia peninsula - and although we were well out and in over 1000 metres of water, the wind tapered off too. Annoyingly, I could see a long line of wind turbines ashore generating away like mad but it was a while before their wind, from the north, got out to us. Then off we went again for several miles and we were well in sight of the lighthouse at Morro Jablé when that wind gave up too, to be replaced by - nothing. It was now well after sunset and getting quite chilly (for these parts), so friend Yanmar was called to the rescue and we motored on past the lighthouse and then the next hill and finally came to the harbour, where we were able to go alongside a comfortable, if delapidated, pontoon. All secured at 2150.
I'm sorry to have to report that, if you have read tales of the timeless and endless unoccupied beaches (with sand blown in specially from the Sahara) in this part of the island, it ain't true no more. The developers have been at least as busy here as anywhere else and there are long ranks of hotels, up to 10 storeys high, and apartment blocks going on for miles. Sunloungers by the hundred are available for rental on the beach..... Somehow the harbour here is on the end of it, though they are beginning to make ominous excavations in the hill face behind, so one can go one way to 'town' or the other way to a 'wild' beach. We also get the interesting spectacle of the daily ferry (that used to run from Gran Tarajal) from Gran Canaria coming in and going out from the harbour - it looks like there's got to be a wizard prang as it does a three point turn close to the corner of the inner breakwater before backing in. Going into town is quite a trek, as they haven't made any provision for pedestrian access to and from the harbour around the shore but at least, by the same token, it keeps the yobs away! Reckon I'll stay here for a day or two, as it is well-sheltered, relatively private and apparently free of charge!

Morro Jablé - Las Palmas, Gran Canaria 6/7th March 2007
Well, I was wrong on that last point, but the charges are on a level comparable with La Graciosa - here it came to €14.08 for the four nights after much prodding and perplexity with a calculator. I spent too much time on the beach here, I think, including the last day up to 1700 or so, with the result that I was slightly out of sorts, and sore in places, when we came to sail in the evening. It is apparently 57 (sea) miles between these two places, and the idea of sailing in the evening was to ensure daylight for the arrival rather than the evening gloaming (or worse) that I've been accustomed to. As always, however, the weather had other ideas and instead of the night-time easing back in the harbour, when I got out a little I found a good Northerly Force 5 and very gusty in the lee of the south Fuerteventurian hills (the highest on the island - up to 806m). I initially set a reefed main and adjusted sail area with the genoa roller, but it soon became obvious that we would be arriving wet and long before dawn like that - according to the GPS we were doing at least 6 knots on this beam reach - so the main was by degrees completely stowed and the genoa reduced to a handkerchief and we trogged along for an ETA in the harbour entrance of 0800. It was boring and not at all comfortable, but it got us here. The sunset showed the top of the hills of Gran Canaria, and then kind of stayed as an afterglow, which turned out to be the loom of the lights in this place, the largest port in the Canaries. The moon - just after full - was mostly obscured by generous amounts of cloud and this is the first time I have needed the full set of "oilies" (and the hood up too) since the long leg from Portugal. Some dozen or so dolphins did the decent thing and escorted us for two out of the last three miles, they seemed a very small species or perhaps they were youngsters? Haven't investigated Las Palmas yet, just caught up on the sleep deficit, so that might be the subject of a later report, when I've found out how to get connected to the internet here.

That last bit was easy - there's the Match Racing Bar right alongside the marina where they let you play with their internet computer, WiFi (a bit doubtful), or ethernet LAN cable (which works well) for free while you are drinking their beer - so no problem at all...... hic! Have decided there's little point for the moment in leaving LP until I have to beat back to Lanzarote: firstly it's at the upwind end of the island, and it will only make matters worse if we go further south; secondly, being the capital, it has good connections with the rest of the island and some reconnoitring from the landward side is feasible to see where I might wish to sail in a future winter; and thirdly, the mooring fees are in the economy bracket because, as the reception clerkess was quick to point out, the marina is not privately owned but belongs to the Council! From what I can gather, most of the other marinas on the island come into the private category, and they're on the opposite side, quite a long way even in good conditions.

At Las Palmas, Gran Canaria 8/22nd March 2007
I have been very lax and not done very much at all. The weather has been generally good but it has managed to rain now and again. I was welcomed into my berth by Mike and Anne (Steel Dreamin') from Northumberland, who have been frequent visitors or resident in Las Palmas for some 8 years, and are consequently a great source of information. Also, talking of small worlds, recently in sailed Nick & Kathy (Fairwinds, Albin Vega) from Balvicar. Nick does the Bluemoment.com website...

Las Palmas is a very pleasant city, if one overlooks the eight-lane urban motorway that runs right along the waterside and the docks on the seaward side, where they load containers 168 hours per week onto an everchanging selection of ships. The marina is well sheltered but it's a long walk round to the new Reception office in all this heat! Fortunately the Bar is only a third of that distance. The town, too, is remarkably strung out from the old part (Triana) with the Cathedral and other ancient buildings in the south to the "New Town" area, where all the big stores are, on the isthmus of La Isleta to the north, a distance of about 2½ miles. Wheels would be a definite help. There's steep hills at the back in the south and a variety of skyscrapers and gardens. On the other side of the isthmus is the beach of Las Canteras, which is heavily used daily and remarkable for the Barra reef which runs parallel to it about a cable offshore. It is just nicely covered at high tide and of course takes all the swell off.