Harriette - Rias Bajas
Hello from Harriette in Bayona (Spain),
In this episode you'll hear how we escaped the wrath of the Coast of Death, lost an oar,
and how the dinghy capsized, complete with engine and fuel tank.
My last e-letter was from the tranquil village of Camarinas. At night it was so quiet in
comparison to La Coruna that what I noticed most at night was the sound of the fish
jumping. No more creaking warps and fenders, obscenities from the marina PA system or
distant rock music till all hours.
Camarinas has revived lacemaking as a tourist attraction. Girls sit in the streets with
big pin-cushions and lots of threads on coloured pins, laboriously and systematically
tangling them to create delicate lacy decorations.
After 2 nights we slipped out of Camarinas harbour at 10:40am. I had planned a course
which took us well off shore because we had to get past the Cabo de Finisterre and this
was the Costa de Muerte (Coast of Death), so-called because of all the ships which have
been wrecked on the rocky coast over the centuries. Also, my charts (electronic and paper)
were not the most detailed, since we only planned to pass here once. We were soon under
full sail, with the engine off in force 3 from the NNE.
By 14:08 we were 2 miles off Cape Finisterre, running well before a northerly which had
risen to force 6 (22 - 27 knots). With the wind behind, 20-odd knots does not seem to be
too much because the apparent wind is less than the real wind by the boat speed (about 7
knots). But I knew from past experience that it was high time to reef, though this was
complicated by having a preventer rigged (a line forward from the end of the boom to
prevent inadvertent gybes). As we were preparing to reef the seas seemed to get more white
caps and then I noticed that the depth reading was dropping steadily from about 80 metres
to 75 ... 62 ... 43 ... 35 ...
According to the electronic chart we were well outside the 50 metre contour and our
planned course deliberately kept outside all the blue bits on the paper chart. The depth
reading continued to drop ... 27 ... 22 ... . I turned to head directly out from the cape
to try to find deeper water. With the wind on the beam the apparent speed rose by 7 knots.
This made Harriette buck around and heal over more and the helm was harder to control. I
started the engine for better control, particularly in case we had to go head to wind. Jo
furled the genoa.
But the real problems were that the preventer made it more difficult to reef the main, the
white water reminded me too much of waves breaking over rocks and the depth kept getting
less ... 18 ... 16.5 ... 12.6 ... . Was this a real depth? I got Jo to look over the side
for signs of rocks. Nothing visible. Now I was fairly sure that the echo sounder was
playing tricks in the turbulent water.
Fairly sure. ... 8.4 ... 6.2 ... 4.8 ... 3.8 ... 4.2 ... 3.6 ... .
We stuck it out for 10 more minutes, going as slowly as we could without being able to
reduce the main without turning parallel with the coast again. Then I decided we just had
to reduce sail. So we turned head to wind and put in 2 reefs.
A couple of miles further out to sea, where the charts showed over 100 metres of water,
the echo sounder was still running up and down every few minutes between over 100 metres
and down to 2.8 metres.
Early evening we entered the sheltered waters of the Ria de Muros and headed for Muros
itself, a fishing port with an anchorage for yachts.
We nosed tentatively into the inner harbour. There was no berth but a local fisherman said
we could raft up alongside one of the mussel-farming boats (Lourdes del Mar), which we
did, thankful that we did not have to inflate the dinghy and row ashore. After half an
hour we had 5 warps attached to my satisfaction and I was idly watching a red fishing boat
(Nereo) coming in.
Towards us.
Very close.
And shouting something to someone nearby.
Me.
We were in their place.
I shouted to Jo that we were leaving and tried to apologise and explain ... . But it was
too late. They were undoing our lines and throwing them back to
us.
All except 2 which they kept hold of and gently but firmly nudged in between Harriette and
Lourdes del Mar. Their dirty black tyres hardly marked Harriette's white gelcoat at all.
15 minutes later Nereo's crew were tidied up and off, telling us they would be leaving
about 8 or 8:30 next morning. We spent another half hour putting more lines on. Then we
finally left and wandered around the remarkably narrow streets and old stone houses of
Muros village.
Then time for a drink and a few tapas in a quayside cafe, overlooking Harriette's
beautiful white form and tall masts, incongruously moored amongst the prime colours of the
squat, wooden working boats.
I have since found that I did not have the most detailed chart of Cape Finisterre in the
electronic chart plotter. The chart PROM which covers this area of Spain is PORTUGAL: ALL
COASTS, not SPAIN NORTH COAST. We had gone through an area of less than 50 metres, but
much more than the depths being given by the echosounder.
The next morning we were up at 7:30 and by 8 o'clock we had the warps reduced to 3 slips
and the engine key in place so we could leave with only a few minutes notice. Jo said we
should leave straight away but I said we probably had time for breakfast.
With coffee and Cornflakes prepared Nereo's crew appeared. We were on deck immediately and
Jo asked me which order to cast off the lines. In less time than it took me to say
"Leave the middle one till last; you cast off the forward warp ..." all of our
lines were thrown cheerfully aboard Harriette and we were away!
Just a short motor across the ria to Portosin, where we had an alongside berth - the first
since leaving England 8 weeks before. Portosin was memorable for the magnificant sunset
which we saw from the yacht club building over dinner the first night.
2 days later we were off for the 43 miles to Rianjo (Rianxo in Gallego) in the Ria de
Arosa (Arousa). Here they tried to squeeze us onto a finger pontoon so tight against a
smaller boat that there was not even room for our fenders. We refused to stay for fear of
damage and were offered a choice of 3 pontoons outside the harbour for nothing. Apart from
the smell of seagull excrement we spent a pleasant few days here.
It was the Fiesta de Guadalupe for the next week and we were expecting to spend some time
with Eduardo and Gelines and some of their relatives.
I gather that Saint Guadalupe looks after fishermen.
The fiesta was opened on Friday night by the mayoress with a drawn-out speech to a full
square of locals out to enjoy themselves, and to heckle when the speech got too boring. At
midnight some very loud rocket explosives announced to everyone within several miles that
things had started.
At this stage we retired to Harriette but everyone else started to dance to the band on
the stage. There were the usual fairground stalls selling sweets and nuts, rides for the
kids, throw-a-dart-for-a-prize, etc. It was the same, with different bands, every night.
On Saturday we went to the house of Laida's sister and Mother to meet them. Laida's mother
was dressed all in black as is still normal for a widow. They live, with about 8 other
relatives, in a stone house 2 metres wide and 3 stories high, with 2 small rooms on each
floor.
Sunday was the highlight for us. We met Eduardo and Laida and a dozen or so sisters,
nieces, nephews, cousins, uncles, aunts and mothers. First we walked to the dockside where
tressle tables were set out in a rough square. Ribeiro wine was poured into the plastic
cups thrust out by the waiting throng and free mussels tipped onto the tables.
An hour later the relatives swarmed onto the mussel boat of one of Eduardo's cousins,
Chicho. The number of relatives seemed to grow to about 30. Manolo, the skipper,
manouevred the boat out of the harbour between the other moorings to join the throng
of other fishing boats, and the odd speed boat and sailing yacht, who were waiting for the
Virgin of Guadalupe to be carried onto her own boat and lead the seabourne procession. We
joined the parade round the end of the ria, past other villages, some of which saluted by
firing off the familiar round of rocket "bangers".
Back on dry land we were treated to merienda in the bar owned by Laida's family. The bar
is no longer run by them as a bar but it had the only room large enough to accommodate all
10 to 15 of us. The number varied as younger friends and family came and went.
That evening we all went down to the fishing harbours again to watch the fireworks being
let off.
On Monday Chicho and Manolo took us on a private trip to see the mussel platform that they
farm in the ria. Each platform is about 30 metres square, consisting of a grid of
horizontal timbers with ropes hanging from them. Each rope, about 12 metres long, has
mussels clustered round it, in various stages of growth. To start with small, young
mussels have to be collected from rocky shores, a dangerous job. These youngsters then get
attached to the ropes and grow for months until they are ready to be harvested. Only 500
ropes of mussels are allowed per platform, controlled by the local authority. The mussels
are then sold by weight to a wholesaler who separates the large, usable mussels from the
rest.
We separated our own mussels from a big heap on the boat deck on the way back. The heap
was teaming with tiny crabs and minuscule prawns. It was a lot of work for a few kilos of
mussels, but now Jo has cooked them in a garlic and tomato sauce so we have a few jars to
keep us going.
On Tuesday, 12 September, we left Rianxo for Santa Eugenia de Ribeira, with a lunch stop
at Villagarcia on the way. Then on Thursday we sailed to Bayona, where we had to anchor in
the harbour. All the pontoon spaces were taken by an important regatta, and by other
yachts sailing south like us. This was the first night that we had ever spent at anchor on
Harriette. Apart from the wash from the frequent catamaran ferry this was a pleasant
anchorage.
We kept the dinghy inflated and tied tight alongside the transom. This made it easier to
get in and out, and to stopped its stern drifting too far away from Harriette where it
might get hit by a passing boat, especially at night. Bayona is quite interesting, with
the narrow streets of its old town only one block back from the harbour-front road. They
are full of seafood restaurants where you can get an enormous plate of mixed seafood and a
bottle of wine for a very reasonable price indeed.
Bayona is where the Pinta returned to after Columbus discovered the West Indies so they
have a replica of the caravel in the harbour.
On Saturday morning we noticed that we had lost an oar from the dinghy. Either it had been
taken or it had been knocked off by banging against Harriette in the wake of the
catamaran. Unlikely because it has to be angled with blade in-board and is quite difficult
to detach.
That evening when we went to get into the dinghy to go ashore for dinner Jo found the
dinghy completely capsized, engine in the water, petrol tank, bailer and seat hidden
underneath. We think the wash of the catamaran, which had just gone by, must have trapped
it partly under the transom of Harriette, then flipped it over.
It took us a few minutes to right the dinghy, then we showered it with hot water from the
bathing shower to wash the salt off.
Fortunately, thanks to advice from Manuel back in La Coruna, I had tied the petrol tank
in.
The manual said get the engine serviced if it's been submerged. But we had only one oar
and no other means of getting ashore. So I tried to start the engine. It took 20 minutes.
But it started. And it's been running OK ever since. Phew! It must be sympathetic to
us because it's a Johnson engine.
Before going ashore we re-anchored further away from the fairway used by the cat.
We also got one of the forward heads tubes replaced because it was kinked. We are still
waiting for a lock to be replaced, then we will be ready to leave for Portugal. Possibly
tomorrow morning.
The winds have been from the south and quite strong so several yachts have been stuck here
for a week.
Best Regards to all,
Mike & Jo