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