Leighton has installed an AIS receiver at the chart table and a second Garmin 128 GPS unit in the cockpit to replace the repeater. We complete all our planned preparation jobs and some we hadn't counted on (like servicing the big starboard winch that was seized solid) and still manage to leave on schedule on 26th June. It's a fine, lovely morning as we cross the Guadiana river bar for a shakedown sail to Culatra, at the southernmost point of the Algarve coast, some 35 miles away. Buoyed up by our success in getting away on time, we haven't really given much thought to the long passage ahead.
"Are you keeping watch, dear?" Leighton asks, as we sail gently down the coast in a very faint sea breeze. "Er, I think so," I mutter. We've been watching a couple of flying fish skimming over the water just close by, the first time ever. They really fly - perhaps 20 metres or more. How do they come to do this, and do they swim or fly underwater? What a great escape mechanism! "What's that fishing boat doing then, fifty feet off the stern?" The sizeable fishing boat drew even closer, and for a moment it looks like we're going to be rammed or boarded until a bloke in the bow shoves a boathook at us with a piece of paper on the end it. The notice turns out to be advice to navigators about the location of some offshore fishing nets. The fisherman then points indignantly to the Spanish courtesy flag we're still flying, shouting Portuguese! Whoops! I scoot down below and reappear with the Portuguese courtesy flag and there are smiles and cheers all round and the fishing boat bears away.
We motor through the channel under Cabo de Santa Maria lighthouse on the flood and anchor off Culatra island. We have to rely on the depth sounder at the chart table as the Humminbird fishfinder in the cockpit is on the blink. Leighton thinks it's terminal. It's very hot and there's not a breath of wind.
We set out in a flat calm as you can see, and we see lots of dolphins. As the day wears on, the breeze fills in on the beam and goes gradually astern until it's blowing a convenient 20 knots on the starboard quarter. After a good supper in the cockpit and a chat with Donil on the HF, we put a reef in the main and take down the staysail just to keep her comfortable overnight. At 03.30, Leighton is sick, which is very unusual for him. There's a confused sea, with a big swell and cross sea, which makes the boat roll terribly, and slows her down. It is rougher we think than our Biscay crossing. My sealegs are a pretty unsteady too.
Down below soon becomes a disaster area. Sails and the rest of the stuff that fetch up on the forepeak bunks have gone flying. Books on the bookshelves which normally stay put litter the floor; the eggs have smashed in the fridge; and worst of all, a bottle of sunflower oil in the drawer has collided repeatedly with an olive oil bottle, popping its lid off and spewing oil into the drawer below and onto the floor, turning the galley into a skating rink.
The good news is the AIS is proving its worth by allowing us to call up ships that pass close by to ensure we avoid a collision. It is disconcerting that ships are meeting us head-on, or overtaking us. When we call up MV Blue Spirit on the VHF, the officer on watch says he cannot see us on his radar even though we're less than half a mile off his port bow. Another ship couldn't see us, even in daylight! First light at 06.00 finds Leighton still unwell, with diarrhoea adding to his woes. It is still 380 miles to go.
The next morning thoughts about 'No Destination' seem singularly appropriate. Going through my mind is how seriously we've under-estimated how long and how tough this passage is for just the two of us. And this leg is supposed to be the easy one - the return journey is going to be much tougher. There's no doubt the boat is up to it, but are we? Even if we make it to Madeira, we might never face sailing the boat back again. At our noonsite we decide it would be safer to abort the journey and return, rather than press on in the conditions with Leighton feeling unwell, shorthanded as we are. So we turn upwind to go back to the mainland, putting another reef in the main. We've come just 120 miles offshore.
Makarma settles down well closehauled and the motion is much more comfortable, although we're shipping more water over the bow than we've ever seen before. We even have to put up the sprayhood to keep the cockpit dry. At 60 degrees off the wind, we're pointing due east, for Rota in Cadiz bay. That will do for now.
