LOG OF THE PAPAGENO

Peter Haden

It was 12 July, a wet Saturday morning, when after a farewell glass of champagne and a formal blessing from the parish priest lines were pulled aboard Papageno, our Westerly Seahawk, and George and Fergus and I sailed away from our home harbour of Ballyvaughan in the west of Ireland. George, a university student, had sailed around Ireland with me two years earlier and Fergus, an ecologist, had crewed on many shorter passages. In the course of his work he had also visited the Antarctic, the Falklands and many other interesting places. We were a confident crew, and as we left Galway Bay behind us the rain stopped and we shaped a course southwest to follow the coastline of County Clare. By nightfall, with 12 knots of wind on the beam, we set a course to take us well outside the Blasket Islands and soon had distant Cape Finisterre as our next waypoint en route for Spain.

With a broad reach all the way, sometimes assisted by the engine, we were delighted to make a fast passage. The only incident came during the third night when, with a sharp bang, a guillimot struck us killing itself and tearing the hood. By the afternoon of 16 July, as we crossed the busy traffic separation zone, Finisterre Trafico was welcoming us to Spain, and we dropped our hook in Camari¤as at 2200 just as a massive firework display started as part of a local fiesta.

Next day we had an easy thirty mile sail down past Cape Finisterre, and in falling light motored the fifteen miles up the R¡a de Arosa. The navigation lights in this r¡a do not come on until complete darkness has arrived, and then have to compete against town lights, and we found it quite difficult to identify the correct passage in the eastern end of the r¡a and particularly the entrance to Villagarcia marina. Then we discovered that the port entrance light was not functioning. (Memo: take care not to sail amongst the unlit mussel rafts next time!).

The marina is well organised, and there is an adjacent yard with slipway and crane. A British yacht was being lifted ashore for the winter and the owner expressed his satisfaction with the arrangements. Something we had not seen before in a marina was a 24-hour self-service fuel pump with card/cash machine. Villagarcia is very much a traditional Spanish holiday resort, and the beach next to the marina was well patronised. However we found the water cooler than at home.

Yachting journalist WM Nixon had especially recommended Villagarcia as a good base from which to visit Santiago de Compostela. He was right. A very comfortable train runs several times a day and the fare is only about œ1.40 each way! Santiago is beautiful and unspoilt, the older and central part being mostly pedestrianised. The cathedral certainly takes one's breath away and we were lucky that our visit coincided with a local wedding celebration. Pilgrims with long staves were arriving in the square all day, many having walked the traditional thousand year old routes through northern Spain and France. We felt quite comfortable in their company, as we too had traced part of the ancient route taken every summer by sailing ships from England to Soulac laden with pilgrims prepared to take on the Bay of Biscay. Fergus purchased a traditional pilgrims scallop shell and we hung this aboard Papageno as proof of her new status of Pelegrin ship!

The passage from Villagarcia to Bayona is surely one of the finest day sails in the western world. The first fifteen miles is down the R¡a de Arosa with its scenery of hills and farmland, followed by a twenty-five mile passage in sheltered waters inside the Isla Ons and incredibly beautiful Islas Cies, passing en route the entrances to the R¡as de Pontevedra and Vigo. On a flat blue sea, with our first really warm sunshine and a beam reach, we really felt good.

The white buildings of distant Vigo appeared to port and we chose the Canal de la Porta approach into Bayona. This was easy to identify although not as wide as we expected. Ferries were coming out, and this helped us find the safe passage and avoid the shallow water in the centre. A few days relaxing in Bayona went down well with the crew. The marina manager was most helpful and the local electrician, Antonio, removed, stripped down, rewired and fitted new cogs (flown in from Barcelona) to our anchor windlass for only œ100.00. The premises of the Monte Real Club de Yates are magnificent, and the marina washroom facilities supervised and amongst the best I have seen anywhere.

On 23 July we made an afternoon departure in 8 knots northerly and, after heading about twenty miles off the Portuguese coastline, made an overnight passage to Peniche arriving at 1900 the next evening. The spectacular rock below Peniche lighthouse was photographed, as it changed into so many different shapes as we passed. Local boats, with their large dinghies hoisted over their sterns and crews of ten or twelve men, were streaming out for the night's fishing and all gave us a great welcome. We easily located the small marina in this large, well laid out harbour. Four visiting yachts were on the outside pontoon, but as a fresh breeze was blowing directly onto it and we needed to make an early unassisted departure next morning we found an inside berth with the local yachts. Ashore we did not meet any officials, either government or marina. All the street restaurants were serving barbecued fresh fish, and three tired sailors soon feeling the wine taking effect turned in for an early night.

At 0600 the breeze was still blowing and it was with some difficulty that we avoided other boats as we negotiated our way out of this rather tight marina. The same fishing boats were returning with the night's catch and there were shouts of recognition from their large crews. Visability was about six miles and the northerly wind was falling away. By 1130 Cabo da Roca was in sight and we marvelled at the dramatic cliff scenery. It seemed to take a long time to get past this headland and the next, but we were then immediately into the approach to Cascais. A new marina is being built just inside the headland, and we thought it prudent to give a good offing and approach from the southeast. The marina is supposed to be complete by 1998 but it is difficult to believe this will happen.

Being such a warm afternoon we elected to anchor just off the beach and found good holding in sand. The Clube Naval had messages for us, and were both welcoming and helpful. A few enjoyable days ensued. Fergus had friends in Lisbon and we were generously entertained. There was a great deal of swimming and sunbathing, and at last we found a sailmaker to repair our torn hood. He strengthened and double-stitched it throughout, and including delivery of ten miles back to us charged just œ18.00.

On Sunday we enjoyed a brunch of fried sardinas and cold beer, and as the temperature soared into the high 80øs headed for the beach. Once again our visit had coincided with a local fiesta -- the fishing boats paraded statues from the church around the bay, the band played on the pier and the town was thronged with holiday makers. Just to liven things up a young bull was let loose on the beach so that the local machos could impress the young ladies.

By next morning the weather forecast at the friendly Clube Naval showed the Portuguese tradewinds continuing to blow and no movement of the Azores high -- it was time to set sail from mainland Portugal for the island of Porto Santo, 480 miles distant. An additional and well experienced crew member, Joe, had just flown in from Ireland, so night watches would only be of three hours. Joe had parted a year before with his classic Tyrell-built ketch Carberry Maid and was happy to be sailing again.

To our surprise the morning brought poor visability, and we carefully made our way past the visiting Portuguese naval ship as the fog thickened. Soon we were in the midst of heavy shipping from Lisbon and Gibraltar. Lisbon Radio did not want to know about us and it was a relief when we switched on our new radar with its bright, bright face. We thought of John Henry Newman's lines, written 165 years before when he was in trouble off the coast of Corsica, `Lead kindly light amidst the encircling gloom, lead thou me on'.

Eventually at about 1600 the fog lifted, but the dangers were not yet over as we found ourselves on a collision course with the Arklow Marsh, a vessel from home carrying barley to Seville. He kindly altered course in a very professional manner and we called him up for a chat, weather information and news. He had heard in Villagarcia that there was an Irish yacht around and had been on the look out for us.

Our Navtex was now performing better and we were getting weather forecasts from Monsanto Radio confirming that we could expect steady a north-northeasterly force 4-5, and so it was with a great feeling of confidence that we settled down for our first night, with genoa, reefed main and preventer well tightened. George had been getting quite good weather maps by fax from Hamburg, but unfortuantly the new printer now decided to go on the blink.

By morning we had our first 150 miles clocked away, the wind was force 3-4 and with enthusiasm the asymmetrical gennicker went up and held us steadier against the 2m following seas. We were now averaging 6.5 knots and it was a disappointment when at 1730 the gennicker halyard parted at the masthead, dumping it all in the sea. By next day the water was getting noticeably warmer and bluer. Sea birds, startled by our sails, dropped squid on the decks and we saw our first turtle. We hadn't seen a yacht since leaving Portugal and ships were rare. Tradewind clouds marched through the sky, and everyone settled into working on their tans.

The third night at sea saw the wind decreasing and the engine on to help hold us steady. By breakfast time Porto Santo had come up on the horizon. The island appeared bigger than we expected, and at first we wrongly imagined that the higher land was Madeira further west. Our course was accurate, and as we rounded our waypoint off Ilh'u de Cima we picked up a friendly wind off the land which gave us a smart sail through the large unoccupied ship moorings to drop anchor in the clear water of the harbour at 1350.

Paperwork for the small number of vessels visiting Porto Santo provides several full time jobs, and after tourism and agriculture is probably an important local industry. However the four offices are all located in the same block, the smartly uniformed officials are very friendly and after about an hour, the day's work being done, everyone was able to cross the road to the pleasant harbourside bar for cold beers.

I do not know any marina in the world which has such a magnificent golden beach immediately alongside it. The water is clean and warm and the swimming safe. To go into town, taxis can be called in a few minutes by the friendly bar, but we preferred the half-hour walk along the beach. We looked at the old open pier, near which is a recommended anchorage for yachts, but a fellow sailor we met said that he found the surf too much for dinghy work, and he joined us in the harbour.

Everyone in town was most friendly, and as the local band played in the square we dined on excellent fresh fish at an outdoors restaurant. Our crew meeting point became the Inferno Bar, located close to the church. Next morning a taxi took us around the island in about two hours. This inexpensive trip is well worthwhile, particularly as the road climbs high above the port and we were able to get some spectacular photographs. We were surprised that the only flat land on the island is entirely taken up by a huge, virtually unused, airport. We couldn't get any answer as to what this was for, and assumed that it is something to do with Portugal's NATO commitments.

Back at the port we had a closer look at developments. There is a proper yacht travel lift and we saw four good-sized yachts carefully stored in a locked enclosure. The small marina in the corner of the harbour is no longer available to visiting yachts, but the new management have laid two lines of moorings and anchoring in the harbour will now be discouraged. This is understandable, as two large ferries and a naval vessel use the harbour continuously and need room to manoeuvre. However a narrow pontoon lies alongside the western pier in front of the navy berth and can be used for loading provisions. We even saw a yacht allowed to lie alongside it overnight. The only disappointment is the totally inadequate (dare I say unusable) shower and toilet facilities. Maybe the new management will sort this out.

That evening George expertly added our name and birdhunter logo to the many other yacht paintings on the harbour wall. Next morning the offices opened at 0945 so we cleared out for the forty mile passage to Funchal, Madeira Grande. From the harbour we set a course to pass close south of Ilh'u de Baixo, from where Madeira came into view. A French yacht ahead provided a bit of competition, and soon we were flying along in a pleasant breeze. To our surprise the northeasterly swell had gone and sailing conditions were perfect for the twenty-one mile land to land open passage.

Madeira Grande has a spine of rocks and islands at its eastern end, and on rounding these we were into flat seas and light breezes off the land. Immediately north of us was the disused whaling station of Canical and we imagined the adventures that bay must have seen. Motoring along the coast we enjoyed the varied scenery, and watched the clouds floating along the hills and protecting the vineyards and banana plantations from the hot sun. The large statue of Christ the King on top of Punta do Garajau marked our destination, and soon we were turning into the large and open harbour of Funchal.

The small marina in Funchal has no pontoons for visitors but we were soon comfortably rafted four out alongside French yachts larger than us. Our own hose and cable just about reached the utilities. My local chandler had convinced me to buy a heavy 150ft warp before I left home -- we took this from our bow to the harbour wall and this soon embarrassed the yachts inside us to do the same. Paperwork followed the same pattern as at Porto Santo and was all very friendly, and it was much appreciated that we had our yacht information in several languages. In addition to berthing feeds we were also asked to pay œ1.00 in light dues. Again the shower and toilet facilities were very poor.

Funchal is an extraordinary place. It has the appearance and affluence of a cosmopolitan European capital -- promenades and boulevards, majestic colonial architecture, statues, hotels and restaurants, open air caf's and a cathedral, plazas and ceremonial soldiers. Yet only a few streets back, as the hills rise, agriculture begins. We only found one supermarket, but it is large and well stocked and takes credit cards. It is close to the fish and vegetable market and the advice of a local may be needed to identify its small entrance in a narrow side street next to the cinema. Also close by the market is a shop where one can buy genuine Madeiran embroidery at the best prices. One surprise was a bank with a cash changing machine for foreign currency -- simply put in your note and out come Portuguese escudos at a fair rate of exchange.

By Tuesday 5 August it was time to go. Even though diesel is available by pump in the marina, making arrangements is a little tiresome so we departed for the Canary Islands at 1000 with half full tanks. Bottlenosed dolphins escorted us and turtle dived deeply when we surprised him.

Around lunchtime, as conditions were settled, we turned into the recommended anchorage at Ilha Deserta Grande at for a swim and picnic. The water is very clear and all the dangers we identified from the chartlet appeared white under the clear blue water. There is a warden on the island as it is a home for monk seals, now an endangered species. A mooring buoy for the warden's boat floated in the tiny anchorage, but we got a good grip with our anchor very close in, between the beach and the cliff face. As with the Ilhas Selvagens a permit, obtainable in Madeira, is required to visit these islands and is asked for at your first step ashore. We were disappointed not to see any monk seals, despite quietly sailing into the entrance of one of the larger caves on our departure. A new sailing experience, anyway!

By afternoon the wind had dropped away completely so we motored south in smooth seas, making all sorts of calculations about fuel and distance. Dinner was a pleasure and we opened a second bottle of wine as the lights of Madeira refused to fade away. We put plenty of miles under the keel overnight, and by 1130 Selvagem Grande appeared on the horizon twenty-five miles distant. The only realistic approach is from the northeast and we cautiously kept the recommended half mile offshore to avoid dangers. However at this distance it is difficult to count the three bays on the east and south sides, and we soon found ourselves almost overshooting the anchorage and closing on dangers. If making this approach the easy advice is to turn smartly towards the land as soon as the wardens' low house is seen at the foot of the cliffs. We anchored in 20ft and soon the dinghy was pumped and we motored ashore to the landing. The two wardens met us, and after inspecting our permit offered to show us around the island. They had not been relieved for a few weeks, and a bottle of wine and few beers from ship's stores were received with enthusiasm.

The special thing about Selvagem Grande is that it is the principle breeding station for Cory's sheerwaters. We had seen a few on our journey but here they were in their thousands. Although it was August there were still a few chicks in the rock nests and the wardens picked these up for us to photograph. There are no predators on the island and so the birds were unafraid of us. The steep climb to the plateau rewarded us with the chance for superb photographs and the wardens were quite relaxed about us photographing anything we chose.

Later that evening a small Portuguese fishing boat came to share the anchorage. We watched in amazement as eleven fishermen rowed past us in one small inflatable, on their way to trade bonitos for rabbits with the wardens and share a cook-up ashore. As the sun went down the sky darkened as thousands of Cory's shearwaters came home from their day's fishing. They wheeled overhead, orientating, inspecting us and giving out their slightly eerie wailing cry. This was a very special experience for us. The sky now was filled. We felt so privileged to be able to visit this place and experience this phenomenon. Was Mozart's character Papageno, the bird hunter, playing his magic flute unheard by us? Another bottle of wine was opened.

Clearly we had passed muster by the wardens, and next day we were left free to wander over the island as we wished. We climbed to the high plateau and spent the morning inspecting the arid yet colourful micronesian vegetation and trying to photograph the illusive Berthelot's pippet, only found here and in the Canary Islands. From the clifftop we watched the fishing boat chasing a shoal of bonitos inshore, launching their dinghy, and with the aid of two crew in wet suits encircling their prey with a net. By mid-day it was very warm and we swam in the sheltered natural rock harbour around the slip. The water was very clear and we enjoyed the colourful fish -- George even gave us an excited description of the moray eel that he met!

We were sorry to leave next morning, Friday 8 August, as this had been a very special visit. The wardens came out to wave and sound their foghorn, the wind blew 5 knots from the west and the barometer had dropped slightly for the first time in two weeks. The straightforward passage to Selvagem Pequena was accomplished in two hours, and we carefully followed the RCC pilot book's instructions to the recommended anchorage. Due to the very settled conditions we had no hesitation about leaving the boat at anchor and rowed ashore. (It would be unwise to use an outboard engine here as there are many hidden rocks close inshore.)

Selvagem Pequena is the main breeding ground for white faced petrels. It is estimated that 250,000 of these birds live here in burrows in the sand and anyone visiting this island must on no account walk on the sandhill area. We skirted around on the shoreline rocks and eventually followed a path marked with sticks to the warden's shack. Apart from one small hill the island is flat, and visually less rewarding than Selvagem Grande. We climbed to the light on the hillock and took photographs of the remains of the oil tanker wrecked here twenty-five years ago. Sadly, some oil is still to be found on the beach.

After a picnic we upped anchor, steered 175øM to avoid all dangers, and then set a course for Punta Teno on the western side of Tenerife. By 1900 the westerly breeze had increased to 10 knots and with a flat sea we made excellent progress. Dawn brought 13,000ft of Mt Teide just to port of the bow. This is a dramatic sight from any direction but somehow from the north, with the shore unsullied by mass tourist development, it seemed at its best. We couldn't resist making a call home via Tenerife Radio to describe the beauty around us.

All warnings about wind acceleration zones between the islands were unnecessary in the settled conditions. We rounded Punta Teno at 1250 and with only eighteen miles to our destination, Gomera, everyone relaxed with a lunch of everything left in the galley. Since Madeira we had, as always, carefully saved all our non-organic garbage for disposal on land. Approaching Gomera from the west, our first sight was of the island garbage truck emptying everything over a cliff back into the sea. Not funny, but we could at least console ourselves that it was well away from our beloved Ilhas Selvagens!

The harbour at San Sebastian de la Gomera has been extended in recent years. We made a wide sweep around the end of the lengthened wall in case one of the huge ferries was departing, and Papageno was soon tied up in the new, uncrowded marina. It was twenty-eight days and five hours since we had left home. We had sailed more than 1600 miles.

The marina is well sheltered from all directions and very convenient to everything we needed. The officials are relaxed, and we were able to choose any berth we wanted. The shower facilities are good and well maintained. Marina formalities are completed in the main port office above the ferry ticket office but there is absolutely no hurry to do this, and anyway, the office is only open from 1000 until 1430. A tunnel through the rock leads to the best beach and also to the Club Nautico. However this is not a yacht club in the usually accepted sense and only the bar and restaurant are open to visitors.

Our first stop ashore was to the church in the main street where Christopher Columbus prayed before departing finally for The Americas. Quite apart from the feeling of being joined in spirit with this illustrious seafarer, visiting yachtsmen should not miss seeing the newly uncovered frescos of old sailing ships on the north wall of this very special church. We found one good restaurant, the Marques de Oristano, which is in the main street. It is light and airy and both service and food are excellent. Wednesday and Saturday are market days when farmers bring their exotic produce to the main square -- including their homemade wine which you are encouraged to taste.

Gomera really is a delightful and unspoilt island. Much of it is a national park, and we hired a car to explore the dramatic and arid volcanic hills and the high, forested peaks with their cloud forests and laurel woods.

But time was running out. The crew had other commitments and I was needed back at home. Papageno still had a gennicker halyard knotted inside the mast as well as some plumbing problems. However we were lucky, as we found that an English company by the name of Club Sail operate a boat care service in Gomera and can carry out all the usual repair work that cruising yachts need from time to time. Tickets were soon arranged, and we waved goodbye to Papageno from the deck of the Gomera ferry knowing that she would be in good hands until we returned in November with the prospect of an exciting passage to West Africa.

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