Sailing the Atlantic, Cruising the Caribbean - Avalon of Arne

By Phaon Reid

Shame about the weather...

Cascais to Porto Santo and Madeira

From Cascais to Porto Santo is about 300 miles, so this would be our longest trip yet. We left in mid-morning, just after Wild Rose as we had to bleed our diesel. We headed out west to start with and the wind (what there was) of it was dead on the nose. After a while we got the sails out and motor-sailed on a course directly towards Porto Santo, about 240 degrees magnetic. We were able to turn off the engine around the time we were crossing the main shipping lane in mid-afternoon. We overtook Wild Rose but remined within sight. The wind came and went all night, but by dawn the next day it was virtually flat calm. Once again, the fabled Portuguese Trades had failed to oblige us.

Later that day, the wind got up. Initially it came from the south, which was good, but soon it veered round to the south-west and strengthened. By the end of the day we were hard on the wind and heading for America. During the night, the wind got up to about 25 knots and we were bashing into short steep seas which slowed our progress. By the next morning we were well reefed down. Some log entries:

1100 (P) Still bashing into short uncomfortable seas. At least it's sunny.

1300 (S) No change apart from now the sun's gone in. At least it's not raining.

1915 (S) Bathroom door keeps banging. Ph chucked spice jar overboard. Bloody sea.

The spice jar had sealed its fate by emptying its contents all around the inside of a locker. In these circumstances, retribution is swift and final. What do you mean, it's not the jar's fault? For some reason soya sauce bottles are the most frequent culprits - and among the messiest.

The night was pitch black, with cloud hiding any moon or stars. At around midnight the wind shifted through about 180 degrees within a couple of minutes, then died totally. The motor went on, then at about 3 in the morning a moderate breeze sprang up from the south-east. This wind contined for most of the next day, increasing somewhat later with a moderate swell making us roll a fair bit. In the evening we furled the main and carried on under genoa alone.

The next morning we unreefed some of the main, and had good sailing for the rest of the day. At 11pm we saw the lighthouse on Porto Santo, and at about 1.45am we dropped anchor in the harbour. The approach was quite tricky as there was a fair swell running and we had to avoid some large unlit mooring buoys. The harbour was crowded - normally people anchor outside, but with the swell this was not possible.

The next morning we woke up and saw the island. For the first time, we felt that we were "abroad" - somewhere that definitely looked alien and non-European. The Island is arid and hilly, quite red and martian-looking in places. After breakfast, we went to the harbour office to attend to the formalities, then walked into town with Chris and Carole. It's a fair walk, maybe a mile or two, but you can walk along the beach, which is pleasant. We had been told that this beach was "the equal of any in the Caribbean". It's a nice enough beach, but the statement is completely untrue. The town (the only significant conurbation on the island) was of a modest size but had all the basic facilities. There was one bar there, in particular, which was favoured by the yachties. It had a visitors book, in which we were encouraged to make entries. Leafing throught the book, Chris found an entry by some friends of his who had passed through the previous year. The entry had been annotated by someone else to say that their boat had been wrecked in a hurricane.

Conditions were still windy and I remember we had to re-anchor several times to find good holding. The next day we determined to see the island so we arrange to hire a couple of Honda 50s. The island is about the right size to get around in one day althoug, to be honest, there isn't a tremendous amount to see. There are some good panoramas, though, since the island is so hilly,

Chris, Sarah, Carole - view over Porto Santo harbour - click for larger pic (110k)

One of the attractions shown on the map we were given was a natural spring on the north coast. This turned out to be a major disappointment. The spring turned out, in fact, to be a tap set into a wall - located in a bar. After making the effort of getting there, we stopped for a drink and filled our water bottles from the "spring". The bar was virtually deserted, but had pleasant views over the sea.

Bar by the "famous spring", Porto Santo - click for larger pic (110k)

Many of the roads on Porto Santo were little more than tracks, and trailbikes would have been more suitable than Honda 50s. It was fun, though. I managed to ride through the only patch of mud on the island, getting myself, Carole and the bike extremely messy. I had to wash the bike before I could get my deposit back.

One one occasion we went swimming in the sea. It seemed pretty cold, but was probably not much worse than English summer temperatures. On another occasion we climbed up one of the cliffs - Carole is an experienced rock climber, but I found the crumbly hillside quite unnerving.

After finding the best club of our trip in Cascais, we found the worst one in Porto Santo. It was called Challenger. Sarah and Carole had got all dolled up in their little black dresses, and even Chris and I had made an effort to look a bit smart, but the place was grim and almost deserted. We didn't stay long.

Artwork on the wall, Porto Santo - click for larger pic (110k)

Porto Santo is one of those places, like Funchal and Horta, where it is traditional for yachties to do a painting on the harbour wall - and this we duly did.

After a few days we felt we were ready to move on, but the winds were strong and in the wrong direction. Eventually there was a lull, and we set off with at least half a dozen other boats for Madeira. Once we were out of the lee of the island, the wind hit us - about 25 knots right on the nose - and almost everyone decided to turn back. I think one boat carried on, and we heard later that they had a pretty rough time of it.

The following day it was virtually calm, although there were still confused swells from the week or so of strong winds. We motor-sailed uneventfully to Funchal, Madeira, and anchored in the harbour.

Madeira is a stunningly beautiful island, and I would dearly love to go back there. But not by boat. Funchal is a seriously unsatisfactory harbour. The harbour is wide open through at least 90 degrees, and if the wind and waves are from that quadrant it is virtually untenable. Also, the holding seems unpredictable. Sometimes, your anchor will drag - sometimes it will be virtually inextricable. There is a marina and, in view of the weather, we put the boats in there for a few days so we could hire a car and see the island. This was after seeing two boats smashed against a steel barge when the wind got up and their anchors dragged.

The marina itself was not great, with visiting boats moored in trots about seven deep from the harbour wall - tough on the inside boats. We were quite used to this sort of thing from the south coast of England - Poole, Weymouth and so on. But we were very surprised how many smart and expensive boats didn't have nearly enough fenders and warps to moor safely.

Madeira doesn't have much in the way of beaches, so it doesn't attract the sort of holiday crowd you get in the resotrs of Spain or the Canaries. But it does have the most stunning landscapes and vistas, and a greater profusion of exotic plant life than I have ever seen anywhere. Sarah, Carole and I hired a car for two days and thouroughly enjoyed touring the island. It would be a perfect destination for a hiking holiday, as it is crisscrossed by a remarkable network of levadas (artificial watercourses) which provide excellent walking.

After returning the hire car we moved back out to anchor, where we tossed around uncomfortably for a few days before setting off. Eric and Toby arrived in White Bread. They had had a bad trip with engine and electrical problems on top of the adverse conditions, and they looked shattered, so we opened a few cartons of wine to cheer them up. It was also in Funchal that we met Nick on Kylie. He was single-handed on a 26 footer, and he looked lonely, so we attracted his attention and waved a can of beer in the air. He was over like a shot. Nick became a very good friend. He is short but tough, and an enormously reourceful and capable sailor. Kylie herself is a well known boat, a Contessa 26 whose previous owner had done several transatlantics, and had written some good articles in the yachting press.

After about a week in Madeira, we set off in company with Idefix, White Bread and Kylie for the Canaries, another leg of 300 miles or so.