So far, I have been amazingly fortunate on all counts. As you know, I’ve hopped into a lot of ports along my trip, becoming quite the expert on entering foreign harbours almost always in the dark, because poor Constellation takes so long, and also (mostly) because I can’t stand the idea of waking up before 9am to sail. Which means, if you leave late, you arrive late… Coming into port at night is also a nice challenge after sitting at the helm all day. A challenge except when struck by terror.

My first day out after spending 39 days in La Coruna had me chronically sea sick, having been on dry land far too long. I was vomiting over the side of Constellation every hour, for the entire nine hour journey. I was trying really hard to make my first day out a triumphant sail, by going non-stop to Bayona, which would have been a twenty four hour sail. I wanted to get around Finisterre quickly, knowing that bad weather was swiftly heading towards land from far out at sea.

If you’ve ever been sea sick, you know that while you’re sick, you are depressed, tired, and you hate the sea with a great passion. But, after you throw up, you’re all keen again. So, for the majority of every hour, I just wanted to sink Constellation and go sleep in front of a warm fire, on dry land. And then I’d be sick, and be back on track, ready to go non-stop to Bayona, often thinking ‘to hell with it, I’m going non-stop to Lisbon!’. Some ten minutes later, I’d be back in the dumps, wondering how to safely sink the boat, launch the liferaft and not forget my wallet so I could get the next flight home.

In the end, after all the ups and downs of what to do and where to sail, I decided to just pull into Laxe. I looked in the pilot book, and there was supposed to be a small boat pontoon which I could tie up to. There were no marinas until Camarinas, and I thought I might get away with a free night or two on the pontoon, or if not, I could according to the pilot safely lay at anchor. I was still really sick, and on entrance into Laxe, I had made a severe navigational mistake. I kid you not, I was within seconds of sinking Constellation for real - And not because I wanted to (or maybe my deep subconscious had purposely altered my route, hoping to grant my secret wish).

I was diligently following my GPS route, but not following the track (ie. my course was in the right direction, but not in a perfectly straight line), as clearly the tide was pushing me to port. I was motoring along with a fairly large swell annoying me from the stern, when my peripheral vision picked up the whites of breaking waves. Directly in front of me, lay a rocky outcrop, which I was just about to crash into. Instinctively I reached down for the throttle and pushed ‘August’ the mighty Yanmar into full ahead, glancing down at the depth sounder as I did the fastest 180 degree turn in history, seeing it read three metres. I had two thoughts as I swung around, the first being ‘three metres oh my God!!!’ (that’s the watered down version) and the second being ‘at least when I shipwreck, I can sit on the rocks as they are high enough above the water and wait until morning’. Thankfully, I was fast enough, and I motored away, shivering with cold, stress and sickness. I marked my current position, and derived a new safer waypoint from the Pilot chartlet to home in on. This all took longer than expected, it was such a dark night, the moon was nowhere to be seen, and everytime I was sitting in the cockpit trying to create a new route into Laxe, Constellation seemed to want to steer back into the rocks.

When my navigation was under control, I closed Laxe, and as I did, the smell of land hit me. You never seem to notice the loss of the earths smell on departure, yet on arrival, it literally smells like someone has placed a handful of earth under your nose. This time there was the mixed smell of wood smoke, and I could feel my sea sickness being left at sea. Eventually I arrived at 10pm, looking everywhere for the small boat pontoon. It was nowhere to be found… Fishermen on the breakwater were eagerly watching me motor in circles as I wondered what to do. The swell was up and there was no way I could safely anchor, even with the new fifty metre nylon rode I bought so I could spend more time with the hook down. I decided to sail into the breakwater and tie up on the inside of the breakwater wall where all the fishing boats were sitting on buoys. In hindsight, I should have just picked up an unused buoy, but I was concerned about what the buoys were attached to, and having such a large audience on the wall, I thought it best not to annoy anyone by stealing their ships parking spot in plain view.

I motored into the calm protected harbour, and prepared Constellation to sit against the high wall. A group of people came by as I motored up, taking my lines and tying Constellation up. No one really spoke English, but everyone was interested to see the small boat flying a foreign flag. I took out my pilot book and asked where the small boat pontoon was - Apparently it is only ‘installed’ in summer! There was no port authority or irritable bureaucracy to deal with, and I was happy to be on land again. Constellation took a battering against the wall, so now she unfortunately has pink marks along her sides, showing her undercoat through three coats of enamel. I was very concerned the swell would smash the spreaders against the wall, but thankfully the swell was only mild on the inside, and paintwork can always be repaired.

The next day, a fisherman came onboard, and told me ten metre waves were forecast, and that I should tie Constellation up on a buoy, and sleep in a hotel. I was as you can imagine, somewhat concerned. I tried to motion that I was not going to motor onto a buoy as the winds were already too strong, and that I would stay with the boat. He then said to me with great seriousness, that if it became too bad, I must leave the boat, as there are many yachts, but only one life. I went from being concerned to being very, very concerned, verging on plain frightened. The little port was well protected, but if a local tells you such things, surely it must only be natural go from concerned to petrified. So throughout the night, I woke up every hour to check the lines and ensure the weather hadn’t deteriorated too badly. The winds did increase to great strength, with Constellation pinned to the breakwater wall, her paintwork taking a serious beating, yet it was nothing too terrifying or life threatening.

The morning after, the same fisherman arrived again with his brother. He said the weather was going to get worse, and that he was going to help me move onto a buoy, having phoned around to find a free one. He insisted that I was going to stay with his brother until Tuesday when the weather was predicted to improve. There was little possibility to argue, as most of this was understood through sign language or broken single words. We moved Constellation over, another fisherman helping with his rowboat. Quickly and under-prepared, I took a few things from the boat and was rowed ashore. The brothers drove past a friend and knocked on his door, exclaiming he was excellent in English, and would explain what was going on. As the door opened, I was greeted with a thick London accent, yet the friend (who turned out to be a cousin) also spoke impeccable Spanish. He explained everything, and I was rushed off to Miguels house. I was expecting to be sleeping on the couch with a big family on the hill, but was genuinely suprised when I was handed the keys to a completely furnished top story apartment, with a view of the sea! I was lost for words, as Miguel showed me around, turned on the TV, and said his mother would bring food in two hours! I lay down for a bit, and on queue, Miguels mother appeared, with a huge pot of homemade spinach stew, bread, milk, cans of beer, coffee, salami, cheese, yoghurt and tuna. I was literally dumbfounded with the incredible show of generosity. I was, and still am, lost for words; and not only Spanish ones.

I spent the day relaxing, yet nervous about Constellation. I also hadn’t brought enough clothes with me, being in a rush after tying up. As I was rowed ashore by another fishermen, I had no rowboat, or dinghy to get back… Poor Constellation was out there on her own, and I had no real way to go aboard. I eagerly went out to borrow a row boat, but whimped out at the thought of stealing someone else’s boat without asking Miguel about row-boat-etiquette. Somewhat disappointed, I went back to the apartment, drank coffee, and tried to watch Four Weddings and a Funeral. It was a rather painful event, seeing Hugh Grant overdubbed in Spain’s very own Spanish-Speaking-Hugh-Grant-Voice-Alike, but I had little else to do, and it was blowing a hoolie outside. I understood nothing of the film, and found myself not really watching, but rather just worrying about my little stranded boat, biting my nails and channel surfing for English programs. It didn’t help that between the TV breaks, reports would come up in the news, talking about the horrific weather, showing pictures of huge waves crashing against the coastlines of Galicia.

The following day I walked around the town, and worked out the row boat laws - You simply borrow one when you need it. At lunch, Miguels mother again turned up with an armful of amazing food, this time a huge potato fritata, bread, and extra milk. I just wish I had more Spanish to express my thanks, beyond ‘Gracias, gracias, gracias muchos gracias!’.

I spent the rest of the day meandering far up into the hills, going in a southwest direction, scoping out where I was to be sailing next. The area was stunning, with the days walk being well worth the trouble of coming into Laxe. Everywhere I went, dogs barked at me, which always makes me feel like I’m a criminal or being told off for something - I’m sure that feeling has some kind of deep-set freudian meaning, but lets not there…

I came home at dusk, attempting to watch Spanish TV again, but still nothing made sense (how suprising). I ended up reading a Webb Chiles book and leafing through the Atlantic Islands pilot guide, taking special note of average temperatures… I’m really getting tired of being in the tail end of the nice weather - I want warm waters, t-shirts and an excess of swimming. Alas, the true temperatures I pine for (30c+) will not be too frequent until I reach the Caribbean, some (seemingly) two million miles away. I will end this post with a quote from Chiles himself, whom I have had the fine fortune of discussing sailing matters with, and who has taken the time to answer my questions with great pragmatism.

“To me a voyage is essentially an act of will and a testing of the human spirit. If a sailor doesn’t learn anything more important from the sea than how to reef a sail, the voyage wasn’t worth making. One of the pleasures in setting out on a voyage is not knowing where the sea will lead. On a voyage a sailor is at risk. On a voyage a sailor knows he is truly alive. A voyage is not an escape from life; it is a reach for life.”

nick (click here for a few more photos of Laxe)

Thanks so much to everybody emailing support and for commenting on my last post, it was all really encouraging.

I was hoping to have left today… But the weather has been bizarre. Just two days ago, the forecast for today was huge swell (7.2metres!) and high winds, which is not conducive to making it around Cape Finisterre. Just yesterday, local Navtex stations were reporting gales at Force 8 - Which I think was completely off the mark, as there was barely a draft going through the washboards. It’s very confusing, trying to make a decision on when to leave. As of today the next five days are looking good. Swell is still up through till Thursday or Friday, presumably from conditions created by the low pressure system that has been hanging around. I wish it would just go away already. Conditions 100nm down the coast are much better - La Coruna is clearly a magnet for bad weather.

Constellation really wants to leave, she is starting to look like a messy houseboat, it’s horrible. Although strapping loads of stuff to the deck does make her look somewhat impressive to some, I suspect the majority of the Real Club Nautico (local sailing club) think I’m a smelly singlehander that should be at anchor, not in their impressive white-boat-marina. Couple Constellation’s chaotic appearance and the big Australian flag, it really does look like I’ve just sailed from Australia, as opposed to the other way around. Finely dressed Spaniards walk along the pontoons, regularly checking mooring lines, as I slouch up and down with bags of pasta from Gadis, saying ‘Hola’ with far too much enthusiasm.

This isn’t to say I haven’t met some really amazing people here. Not long after tying up, one of the marina staff took a shining to my boat. He really liked her. Several days later, he said there was another boat, just like mine, on the opposite side. I thought he was daft, maybe confusing Constellation with something of a lesser pedigree. But, I did wonder over for a look nevertheless. And what did I find? Nothing other than a really lovely white Contessa 26, her owner onboard, flying the Spanish flag. I tried to explain that I had a boat exactly the same, pointing to the other side, however we both just stared at each other blankly, having big ‘no comprendo’ looks at each other (hey, what happened to Esperanto?). In the end, he made a phone call, and gave me the phone. ‘Errr, hello?’ It was his son on the other line, speaking perfect English. I explained, he explained. It turns out, this little white boat, had sailed all the way from England, through the Med, Suez, around the Cape of Good Hope, and then back up to Alicante, Spain! Wow, another impressive Contessa voyage. Funnily (or, not really) enough, he was in trouble with Spanish authorities, because he had no paperwork for the boat, it had all drowned. How you ask? Much the same way my boat filled up with water when on the hard: The cockpit filled, and flooded the interior, taking the paperwork with it. This lovely Contessa owner invited me to lunch the following day. His son picked me up, drove me at breakneck speed to the family business. Which, as it turned out, was vinegar factory in one part of town, and in another part a spirits refinary! I had a tour of the vinegar factory, which still uses big oak barrels, admiring the family collection of strange cars, with a Uni Mog in the front garden, and a beautiful 1950’s Mercedes restoration in the shed. We went out for a stunning lunch, and he invited me out again the following day! Here, he offered to loan me his spinnaker and spinnaker pole, as well as a mooring in Alicante (the Mediterranean) if I decided to stay in Europe. What amazing generosity.

Later in the week, I saw someone poking around my boat. I looked out of the hatch, and saw a man double bent over, trying to read the transom stickers. He popped up with fright when I said ‘hola!’, and we chatted for awhile. He came back several weeks later, holding the hand of a very young and pretty girl. He exclaimed ‘this is my sister!!’ and I sort of looked at him oddly. Later he told me he meant to say it was his daughter, which made much more sense. He took me out to coffee, and explained (there were some communication difficulties, so the story may not be quite right) that the OSTAR singlehanders used to come in near his house after the long race. He would row out in his boat to greet them, and chat about their craziness. He then took a look at my legs, and exclaimed ‘oh yes, all solo sailors in small boats have tiny legs. I think you have tiny legs’. I laughed. I guess I do. Unfortunately that probably just has more to do with my anatomy than my sailing, since I’ve been spending more time walking around aimlessly than sailing great distances…

And then I met Monica, at a local cafe. She works there, the cafe is called ‘Gasthof’, which I must have been attracted to because of the German name (it means Guest House, if I’m not mistaken). Eventually after I kept showing up every once and awhile over the month I’ve been here, she started asking what I was doing in La Coruna. I explained, and Monica took a great shining to the idea, also after finding out I was not a ’sailing bigos Pijo*’ (I don’t know what the word is or out to spell it, but I presume it is Spanish for ’snob’ or something to that effect!). Not long after, she left for Madrid for a holiday, but not without sending me a present of great generosity, with some photos of my boat to stick to the cabin roof. Thank you again Monica, you’ve been so generous.

While I have loved it here in Coruna, I really do hope my next post is from another port. It is time to move on. Constellation is biting at the bit, we must go.

nick

* Tudor, my official trip advisor, and official translator (gosh, he’s so official!), says: “Pijo, you have correctly guessed is a snob, but it has a slightly different demographic in Spain. More like a “conformist middle-class snob”, as these are the people that wear tweeds, Burberry, Barbours and such, looking like thay have just come off a stag hunt in Scotland.”

It is with great amazement, humility and excitement that I am able to announce that Constellation and I, are going to answer the call of the Atlantic Ocean. Thanks to a highly generous friend, mentor and all around good person, I have a sponsor / loan of sorts, which is going to power me across the Atlantic, this year, on schedule. The last month has been fraught by disappointment, plan changes, incessant nervous walking, and scheming. But now, all that is a memory, as my head explodes with things that need doing, work I had commited to that requires finishing, and repairs that need to be made, so I can fly like the wind to my start point in the Canary Islands. Really, thank you.

Help from new and old friends is abound. Thank you again(!) to Martin at Autosystems, for his exceptional encouragement, and kindness. Marty & Autosystems are helping me out with a Satellite phone for my Atlantic crossing, so I can give updates back home, maybe make a call for Christmas, and keep this site updated with positions and reports. Incredible.

Thank you to Brian at Southampton Trailer Hire for the donation - Quite amazingly, Brian has Constellation’s original trailer for hire - If you check out his site, there are even pictures of her former self! Thank you Brian, and if you ever need a hire, do think about returning his favour to me, in the form of hiring one of his trailers.

Thank you to Tudor, for his donation, and unwavering support, and ‘official trip advisor’ status. Tudor has been my secret weapon, a person who I have been able to ask stupid questions without fearing ridicule, a person who shows great patience with my fickle plans and constant changes. Everytime I have a query, Tudor has time to help me out with great pragmatism.

Thank you to the new Dutch sailing site, SailorsForSailors.com, a site soon to be launching in English at the end of the month, so keep an eye out. SailorsForSailors is a portal full of cruising stories, comprehensive marina reviews, videos and regular updates. Thanks to these guys, I’m able to to actually leave the marina here in La Coruna.

Thank you to Monica for being my ‘friend and sister in La Coruna’ - You rock!

Thank you also to Spud, Liam, and David for the donation and words of support, you guys are fantastic.

So where and what to do now? As I said, I have things to finish here in Coruna before anything else. I have some bits and pieces of work to finish off, and also I need to ‘re-commission’ Constellation. I arrived here, dumped everything on deck, took the mainsail off the track, packed her up and cleaned away the sheets. She’s a mess inside and out, and needs tending to before getting back out to sea. I hope to leave within the next five to six days, weather pending - Things I hope will pickup in seven days, once that enormous low figures out where, and what it’s doing. It’s getting cold here in northern Spain, so I keenly look forward to warmer climes. The weather in Barbados is a balmy 30degrees. My oh my, who would have thought I would be looking at Caribbean temperatures so soon?! No, not I.

I’ve not really done any route planning as such, all this news is almost as new to you, as it is to me. But of course, I will stop off in Lisbon (where I can re-read The Book of Disquiet in spectacular context), hopping down to Cadiz, and then of course I will have to watch Humphrey Bogart as I dock in Casablanca, simply because it’s there, and what an experience… I guess I’ll follow the standard route afterwards, spend some time in Las Palmas before dropping off the edge into the great abyss, and with great luck, hit land some 25-30 or so days later. I have a ways to go before I get to my starting point, so best not to get too far ahead of myself… But, I’m very excited and very nervous.

Thank you everybody, I’m lost for words.

nick.

So it’s now almost been two weeks since I arrived in La Coruna. My work situation has kind of disintegrated, for a number of technical reasons I won’t bore you with. This poses a minor problem to my plans, but alas, there is nothing I can do but keep pushing and searching for solutions. I’m really becoming quite aware about how easy it could be for me to stay here and not move for the winter, which is unnerving, so the search continues. At present, I literally can’t afford to pay my way out of the marina (you pay on departure here, as opposed to day-by-day, which means you put yourself in a debt of sorts…), so until something comes out of the woodwork, I’m iced in. I like to think of myself as being a Shackleton of sorts, stuck not really by choice, but rather by extremities. My capture being pure economics, as opposed to a harsh icy climate though - The weather here is actually quite stunning.

I was somewhat amazed to find an article on the web about my attempts at work, yet it was positive, and definitely a good advertisement for any future employers! It was also quite exciting that Tom and Tina Sjogren of Explorersweb Inc. took any interest at all in my predicament, they being the ultimate adventuring duo, and also hosts to one of the largest portals of genuine adventure and exploration. It’s also been one of my favourite websites for a long time, from the days of sitting back and dreaming of far flung adventures.

Besides all my ongoing woes, I’ve certainly not been bored while living here - Several days ago the German schooner ‘Johan Smidt’ appeared overnight, with a crew of high school students and teachers, on a program called ‘Die High Seas High School‘. One of the English teachers noticed my ridiculously large Australian flag (it was all I could find over here!), and came over to talk - He was quite unexpectedly from Adelaide, Australia, and invited me over for a cooked lunch, and to do a talk about my voyage in English to the students.

I spoke about my voyage across from England to Holland, and they were all rather impressed I knew Johannes Erdmann, who had in fact sailed up to Vlissingen with me. I spoke about my lack of toilet facilities, and explained that two buckets consisted of the toilet, the bathtub, and the kitchen sink. They were rather amused to hear I thought their boat was a floating motel, and insisted on seeing my little ship that I was intending to sail home on. So we walked around to Constellation, at which point there were gasps of astonishment, as they climbed in and out of my little boat, which I had to explain should not be boarded by all of them at the same time, for fear of sinking her.

I’d only spent a tiny amount of time with the crew of this new arrival, but when throwing their lines off, I must admit I felt a little sad. It’s always hard being the one who is left behind - It’s far better to leave first…

It wasn’t long after, that I met a local Mini-Transat (Classe Mini) sailor, who invited me out racing. I can sail a boat in one direction, but I can tell you now: I’m no racer! It was a fun experience, and I’ve always wanted to sail one of these crazy French pocket rockets. I think they are the 21st century answer to the Contessa 26 - In fact, I wouldn’t be suprised if they had a similar length in the water. There was little wind, but you could really feel that these boats go amazingly fast, and crossing the Atlantic in them in the bi-annual race is one incredible feat. It was also interesting to be on a boat specifically designed for solo offshore racing. They are virtually unsinkable, with foam core added for buoancy, and have a number of important safety features, such as the transom escape hatch, and the ability to completely seal off the cabin. Demasted or similar, I think you could ‘happily’ curl up in your floating pod and survive quite nicely. I’d love to have unlimited funds and the aid of a naval architect to build the ultimate one-handed offshore cruising boat! The minitransat is a nice idea for racing, but for my own super-boat design, I’d lessen her beam, increase the length a little, and up the displacement, increase the weight and strength of the keel, yet keep all the safety and unsinkable traits - I would now like to be referred to as ‘Nick Jaffe, RNA, PE’.

After my racing experience, I suprisingly found another Contessa 26 in the marina. Noticing the owner onboard, I found out via the son being a translator, that the boat was named ‘Fantasia’, and had in fact come from England, via the French canal system, the Med, and around the Cape of Good Hope, right back up to Alicante! Who the skipper was, I have no idea, but if you know, please mail or leave a comment, I’d be most interested. I’ve been invited to lunch tomorrow by the owner, which I’m looking forward to.

So, while I’ve had a lot to do in La Coruna, none of it really solves my immediate problem of be stuck in an economic ice berg. I’ve tried to motivate myself by reading the adventures of Shane Acton, aboard Super Shrimpy, the 18ft plywood boat which he sailed around the world on with less money than I, but alas, it’s neither made me any money, nor inspired any further ’southing.

What comes next, I’m not really sure. But one thing is for certain, I need to learn Spanish!

nick.

And I thought Biscay was big! Over the last seven days, I’ve sailed 200metres… Yes, I’m still in La Coruna. Why? Well, when I say I’ve run out of money, I don’t lie. But firstly, thank you to Paul & Lisa, from the Swedish sailing vessel Eekaros, currently docked in Amsterdam. They’re going around the world, and currently saving for a larger boat. Their current one isn’t that much bigger than mine, and they’re totaling three persons onboard (including the kitten)! I was looked after like family while in Holland by these lovely sailors, and they’ve assisted me again with some funds to keep me eating until my first paycheck. Here is a picture of us, with me wearing the same jumper I’ve had on since I left Australia, in 2006!

Monnikendam, Holland

Yes, I know the fenders are down. The engine failed, I wasn’t suppsed to be sailing…

Thanks guys!

A few days after arriving here, by great coincidence, someone I previously worked for via the web emailed with a job. So, being in a fortunate position where work is achievable if I just have an Internet connection, I’m staying here for a month to refill the boat with beans & diesel. And make repairs… I don’t earn a lot (seriously, working in a bar pays better) but if it means I can keep sailing, then I’ll do anything.

I’ve been here for seven days now, and it’s been fantastic. I’ve met really nice liveaboards, had a chance to recover from my sleepless Biscay crossing, and La Coruna is an interestingly transient place. There are ships from Norway, America, and even Japan coming through, and all going places far away. You can tell the boats that have made it this far, are not the day cruisers normally encountered when out sailing. The boats here have crossed the Atlantic, are just about to, or are heading off to other distant places. This also means that a lot of people are arriving from Biscay, all with stories of fighting FORCE 10 CONDITIONS. I’m well aware Biscay is more than capable of throwing up such harrowing storms, but I must admit, I’ve been taking Force reports with a grain of salt, and automatically reducing them by 3 points. It’s a little bit like estimating wave heights at sea - If you think the swell is six metres, the true height is half. I’ve been guilty of it myself, but I blame horizon physics, a secret branch of a science I just invented.

It is also really exciting that I’ve been able to get a little work while in La Coruna, because this means that with about 75% probability (I’ve just calculated that on a large computer), I will actually be making my own Atlantic crossing by the end of the year, or, at the very beginning of the next. This is really amazing, because I never thought I would be able to achieve it so soon - Every port I’ve arrived in, I’ve told the locals that I can’t continue, and that I’ll have to ‘winter’. And every time, something crops up that allows me to just move a little bit further. Also, having done with Biscay, I can relax for a little bit without fearing the weather too much. Biscay was a massive hurdle for the logistics of the trip, however now I can almost day hop down to Lisbon, wait for another good forecast, and go direct to Madeira.

I will probably wait in Madeira, or nearby for another few weeks, possibly I can even work again to make further repairs, and hopefully arrive in the Caribbean with more than $14 and six overdrawn accounts. So far, repairs scheduled for La Coruna, involve replacing all the chain plates for the standing rigging, installing an electronic bilge pump, replacing the mainswitch (again) and generally tidying up.

Other than that, my stay here will mostly involve being cabin bound with my laptop, watching the pilot vessels come in and out of the marina.

nick.

After my disappointment at the thought of Biscay, and not knowing what to do, I moved on from L’Aber Wrac’h the next day to Camaret, to wait for a Biscay window. This annoying piece of water has to be crossed somehow, and after some encouragement and a day to think about my options, I decided I had to go.

With the assistance of the professional weather routers Commandersweather searching for a weather window, a time was identified for a possible cross today - But upon further analysis yesterday, the passage deemed too risky - Swell of 8ft+ and winds of 30kts. I was somewhat disappointed, as I was ready to go… I had spent the previous few days going over Constellation, refuelling, and buying provisions, only to still be sitting in the harbour - At least I have some nice food for the next week! I really wanted to pop up in Spain with this post, but there you have it, I’m under the control of a fickle weather beast.

Re-packing the entire boat

Thankfully I did a good check of the boat, as I found an inner stay (one of the wires holding the mast up) had pulled through a chain plate on the deck. The plate had rusted on the inside and snapped. With the helpful assistance of a new friend in the marina, the plate holes were re-drilled, and a new U-Bolt was bolted in with an oversized stainless back plate on the underside of the deck. Not only that, but said friends cooked me one of my first real meals in months - In fact, the day before my scheduled departure, I was spoilt with more home cooked food, having met a local British couple who live in Brittany. They drove me around to supermarkets so I didn’t have to walk everywhere, and then took me home for a cooked lunch! I began to think ‘two of the best meals in more months than I can remember in one day, with a big crossing the following - This is either reward for making the decision to cross, or the last supper!’.

So today, I think I’ll move on down the coast, and wait on a new window. The forecasters think there could be something coming up next week, so I’ll keep exploring the coastline and see how I go. If I slowly make my way down towards La Rochelle, and if no windows open up, I guess I can investigate the Canal Du Midi which will take me through to the Mediterranean - However I suspect parts of it will be closed over the next two months, which may make that option impassable. I’m basically completely out of money now too, so I’ll hang out for another week, see what the weather is doing, cross if I can, or keep moving to La Rochelle, where I may be forced to park Constellation and seek work ASAP. If I can get a desk and an internet connection somewhere, I may be able to generate some money and move Constellation later on.

Any cheap marinas with free high speed WIFI between Camaret and La Rochelle?

nick.