1st August to 11th September 2023

Little over a month ago, at the start of August, England was wet and windy.

In a summer of uncharacteristic weather extremes, lurching from record breaking heatwaves to wretched chilly wetness, Henrietta swung wildly at anchor in Cornwall’s beautiful Helford River. I was waiting for a few days of calmer seas to sail across the Bay of Biscay to Spain.

At last there was a forecast for a couple of days respite before yet another gale came through. I lifted the anchor and left. It was still a bit rough but, as ever, it was exhilarating to be skipping over the waves once more.

The gale I thought I’d escape was then upgraded and expanded, and christened Storm Antoni. It was too late to turn back. I hurried south hoping to get away – but couldn’t go fast enough.

And so it was a very rough crossing, easily the roughest of the several Biscay crossings done to date. Perhaps I was a bit frightened, something normally only reserved for lightning, and I was exhausted. Trouble was I felt sick, again not normal in my sailing travels. Add to this, that the wind on the second night backed and strengthened, forcing me across the busy lanes of shipping heading to and from North European ports.

Yet, it was a quick passage lasting a mere three days for 460 miles; roughest Biscay crossing yet, fastest yet. The sun came out as I swept into Ria Camariñas in Northwest Spain, and lowered the anchor at a familiar spot. In a few short minutes mood lifts from a state of exhausted anxiety to pure joy, blessed relief and plain old happiness.

These wild swings of mood are a characteristic of this sailor’s liveaboard life. The normal cycles of emotional state, cheerfulness and grey gloominess, seem to be exaggerated by the challenges and rewards of life at sea. From utter despair when equipment fails, the sea is violent and rain is relentless you can be elevated a few hours later to serene pleasure with sunshine, a dolphin’s playfulness and cormorants with wings outstretched on nearby rock.

(There’s a special place in hell for those who write books, magazine articles and tales that dwell only on the positives of liveaboard sailing life! It isn’t all sunshine, golden sunsets and smiling contentment you know.)

After a few days of walks and shoreside comforts, I sailed on south, visiting familiar anchorages on my way to a boatyard I’d heard of. Henrietta needed repairs and routine maintenance.

Xufre (the language in Galicia is rather different from Spanish – I think it’s pronounced a bit like Zufre) on the island of Arousa in a Ria of the same name, was delightful. The boatyard was spacious, a huge slab of concrete dominated by a giant travel lift, a tower crane, and shed about 25 metres high, managed by the charming, fascinating, ever-helpful Nito, and his team of happy workers.

Security is provided by three of these German Shepherds that wander around like wolves, but seem to be the friendliest and most gentle of dogs.

Their names are Bao, Beque and Brisa. They often tell me they feel hungry, and feature on the boatyard’s unusual burgee below!

Boatyard prices were I reckon half those of southern England. Furthermore you could stay on your boat, something now denied in most UK yards.

(For those with an interest in such things, works included rebuild of diesel injector pump, bypass of leaking holding tank, full engine service, cleaning out contaminated diesel tank, some welding, thorough polish, antifouling, anodes replaced, etc.)

Whilst there, England were playing Spain in the women’s football World Cup final so I went to the local seafront bar to watch, curious to see local people’s attitudes. Not much interest it seemed, though people did start watching near the end when it was clear Spain would win. But I couldn’t help wondering at the contrast with the near hysteria that accompanies such events in any of Britain’s nations.

After more than three weeks at Xufre it was good to get going again yesterday. Life on a boat in a boatyard is not a good way to live, even with many friendly sailors around and the delight of cheery workers.

I’m happy to bob at anchor again, enjoy swimming and sunshine, and wait for wind to blow us south once more.