Oeiras to Sesimbra
15 August 24 miles
We’re reluctant to leave Lisbon after a stay of only two days, but
if we’re to have enough time to pick a good weather window around Cape
St Vincent, we shouldn’t delay any longer.
So it’s sad to say goodbye to Jurgen and his family and set off
again in NW 4. The Portuguese call the region south of Lisbon the Alentejo
– literally the far side of the Tagus. We’ve left behind the flat
sandy coastline and here it’s more varied, with hills and rocky inlets.
It’s a cloudy day for the first time in weeks, but once round Cabo
Espichel and on to the last Portugal chart (yippee!) the sun comes out.
Off the cape we see lots of petrels and terns diving into the swell
for food.
It’s gusty off the hills as we approach the little fishing
harbour at Sesimbra. We
decide against the anchorage as it’s open to the southwest, just where
the wind is forecast to come from overnight.
In the marina we
can’t understand where the marinero is telling us to go, so we have to
berth three times until we’re in the right place. Leighton keeps his
cool admirably.
Sesimbra
to Sines
16 August 30 miles
After picking up fresh fish and vegetables from
the quay, we motor out to find 15 knots of wind from the
southwest. Harry (the Aries) is being erratic today, a surprise
since he usually performs well to windward. We suspect his poor
bushes are a bit worn and make a note to service the thing over the
winter. It makes a change to be closehauled after all our downwind
sailing. Luckily it looks like we can steer our course to Sines
without tacking. A little later we’re apprehensively
watching the approach of a big black cloud, and put one reef in the
main and roll the genoa up almost completely. The rainsquall hits
us with strong gusts of wind and torrential rain. Makarma heels
over and Harry loses the plot, so we have to hand steer. It lasts
an intense 20 minutes before it's over. Before long another black cloud
appears on the horizon, so we put the second reef in the main as a
precaution. Thankfully it passes behind us and the rest of the
sail is uneventful.
By teatime we’re anchored next to a Dutch steel ketch in the inner harbour overlooked by the town of Sines. Like most harbours on this coast it’s open to the southwest, despite some shelter given by the outer breakwater. There's no getting away from it, it's a lee shore and the incoming swell makes it rolly.
We convince ourselves it’s OK, reasoning if we drag there’s only beach to go aground on, and anyway we have the option to retreat to the marina, also within the inner harbour. Nevertheless overnight rainsqualls mean an anxious anchor watch for a couple of hours before all goes quiet.
In
Sines
17-19 August
Cape St Vincent is the last major hurdle and I can’t help being intimidated by its fearsome reputation for strong winds and waves. Seeing nothing less than 25 knots of wind forecast along the coast, I threaten to catch the bus to Lagos and leave Leighton to sail round on his own. Every day we put off leaving, using as an excuse the fact that the forecast isn’t right. Sitting around and waiting just gives me more time to imagine how dreadful it could be. When Leighton admits that I’m making him nervous, I realise I should just keep my fears to myself and get on with it. We’d read somewhere that if you leave Sines at night, you reach the cape well before the sea breeze increases the nortada. This is appealing, but the night sail isn’t because of the widespread lobster pot markers. In the end we decide to leave just before first light the next day.
