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12th October – 19th October 2004
scenery, magical sunsets, and the good life… there is, however, a flip side, and our next
segment of the journey turned into a litany of mishaps and near-disasters. We’d like to think that
this is simply due to the “what goes around, comes around” philosophy of life, such that we were
due a healthy dose of reality, but the truth is we’ve discovered Matt Stoudt is a jinx: from the
moment he stepped aboard all went pear-shaped, and the only conclusion we can come to is
that he insulted Poseidon in some way that first night. Matt is always one to look for adventure,
so maybe it was this subliminal wish that set things off.
As previously mentioned, we had commissioned some mechanical repairs to our diesel engine
while in Palma, and – for a small fortune – had been provided with a first-class and priority
service… or so we thought. We docked with a slightly smoky but effective engine; after a 3-day
professional service – cleaned air filter, replacement accelerator cable, new fuel injectors etc – lo
and behold, we departed with a heavily smoking engine that wasn’t effective at all…something
amiss? Most definitely!!! Unfortunately time constraints meant we had no choice but to set off for
the return leg back towards Gibraltar, and a Spanish holiday meant the mechanics weren’t even
there to vent our anger upon! Starting up the engine was reminiscent of Han Solo starting up the
Millennium Falcon. We pulled out of Palma harbour very slowly, the engine taking a long time to
pick up acceleration, and leaving a trail of black fumes behind us… not a good sight or a
comfortable position.
Despite our concerns the four of us were in buoyant mood that afternoon as we sailed towards
the setting sun, prompting Mark to exclaim: “It is a special day today – we are starting to sail
West… perhaps forever!”
By nightfall we had crossed the channel to Ibiza and found a comfortable anchorage in Cala
Portinax, a sheltered bay on the North-East coast, and settled down for a good nights sleep. Not
to be…at 2am, without warning, we were violently awaken by the full fury of a wild and dramatic
thunderstorm unleashing itself upon our little anchorage. This was serious stuff. Mark started
unplugging all our electronics equipment and putting them in the oven to protect them from
lightening strikes, and we leapt about closing hatches. In the midst of this, Q checked up on
deck – in the space of 2 minutes we had dragged both our anchors across the bay and were
imminently about to be dashed onto a group of jagged and fearful looking rocks…Quintin’s yelled
obscenities – heard clearly above the roar of the storm – brought Mark, Matt and Troels
scampering on deck where all hell had broken loose. Sheets of driven rain lashed down upon
us, the wind howled at Gale-Force (we estimated it reached 50 knots!), whipping the sea up into
a froth, while lightening struck all about every few seconds illuminating the drama, so that it looked
like a scene from a bad horror movie. Firing the engine into life we sensed disaster as it refused
to engage power - the rocks were close enough to literally jump onto from the stern – and it was
all we could do to combine the fitful efforts of our engine with our weight pulling against the
dragging anchor chains, to inch precariously free from the hungry rocks. What a narrow
escape!! Within 15 brief but violent minutes the storm had abated, leaving us shaking with cold
and adrenalin; fearful of further onslaught we re-anchored on the other side of the bay and doubly
secured ourselves by mooring to a vacant fisherman’s buoy, but the worst had passed. Matt’s
thirst for adventure had been whet.
The next day, a little dazed by the nights events, we motor-sailed down the west coast of Ibiza in
light winds, heading for the salubrious Café Del Mar. For a bit of excitement, we put Freddie to the
test again, and within the hour had a huge fish on the line. As Mark was bringing it in, there were
shouts of “What is it?” from the cockpit. Mark quickly chimed in that it was probably a tuna, but
Matt quickly added “I’ve never seen a tuna with a sword on it’s head!” “Felix” turned out to be a
small swordfish measuring 1.16m (over 3ft) and weighing about 14 lbs. A few hours later we
were anchored in front of Café del Mar for a last end-of-season sunset, listening to Troel’s
favourite song “Twilight at Café del Mar”, feasting on grilled swordfish, and drinking one of our
celebratory half-bottles of champagne. Maybe our luck wasn’t all bad after all.
That night we had a beautiful starlight night passage across the shipping lanes to Alicante on the
Spanish mainland. It took Matt a while to get used to the lurching of the boat, but at least we had
the excitement of crossing the Greenwich meridian yet again. Sadly this was to be Troels’ last
night aboard, but he was blessed with a fitting last sail. He had just received news that he had
been offered a lucrative research grant, so had to go back to Copenhagen a few days ahead of
schedule. He left us exactly one month, to the hour, after joining us…. the Danes are nothing if
not efficient! He will be sadly missed, but the legacy of his photographs lives on.
We had just long enough to buy some provisions in Alicante before we had to set off again for
Gibraltar. We slowly coaxed the engine into action and headed West again. However, the winds
had started to pick up, and it became very hard work sailing upwind along the Spanish coast.
What happened, this was supposed to be a downwind leg? Frustratingly the wind had decided to
do a complete 180° since the last time we sailed through here. As wind and sea built against us,
the waves started crashing over the bow: in anticipation of a hard slog we had hanked the storm
jib onto the inner stay, and lashed it down to the lifelines in readiness for use, but it was swept out
of its lashings and off the deck in the short sharp waves; it took Q an hour of tiring work on the
foredeck, while constantly being dunked under wave after wave, to recover and secure it again.
Finally, just as we were rounding a headland at the hardest part of the coast, the wind died away
completely, requiring us to motor the rest of the way towards Gibraltar on completely glassy
seas. To time a suitable arrival into the busy harbour of Gibraltar during daylight, we chose to
anchor outside a little marina development called Sotogrande for the night. As we approached
the coast, dolphins started jumping high in the air around the boat and played in the midnight
moonlight. Little did we know that we would get to know this town so well!
Well, so far, so good. We had called ahead to try to secure both a berth and a mechanic for our
stay in Gibraltar, and so all that was left was to travel the last 20 miles to get there. Well Oct 18th
was not so kind to us. We left before sunrise, and on the way to Gib nearly ran over an
unmarked fisherman’s net. Why they choose to mark their nets with little black balls on a black
sea is beyond us! After Matt got a quick lesson in Spanish fishing obscenities, we thought it
might be wise to check our fuel level again. We had done a calculation the previous day, and
given our normal fuel consumption, we would have no problem reaching Gib. However, we
hadn’t accounted for our engine using about twice as much fuel as it should have because it was
not firing properly. This meant that we were almost about to run out of diesel; just as we were
approaching Point Europa and the tip of one of busiest shipping harbours in the world…. not
good. To make matters worse, the wind died again just as we were entering the harbour.
Inching along at about 1knot, we thought about lashing our dinghy to the back of the boat and
using the outboard to propel us along. Fortunately the wind picked up just enough to crawl into
harbour and the safety of the fuel dock. We had 2 liters out of 180 left in the tank!!!
Then two serious setbacks: there were no berths available in any of Gibraltar’s 3 marinas, and
despite our reservation there were no mechanics available to work on our engine. We didn’t
have time for any sightseeing in Gib, and given our previous experience we were not keen to
hang around, so we decided to leave the next morning in search of a Spanish mechanic:
someone, anywhere who could fix our engine! We had a rough night at anchor in the harbour
with strong winds and rains buffeting the boat. However, we will never cease to get a kick out of
watching crew from all the surrounding boats get up at all hours of the night in various states of
undress to make sure their anchors are still holding okay. Who knew grey tighty-whities were
so popular? But that’s where the humour ended. We tried to start the engine in the morning and it
wouldn’t crank! …at ALL! We spent 5 hours troubleshooting, changing all the fuel filters, cleaning
out the air filter, and trying this, that, and the other. Finally with a little help from Nigel Calder -
author of the "Boatowner’s Mechanical and Electrical Manual", and a modern-day saint – we
managed to “jump start” the engine and limp back to Sotogrande… the nearest town with an
available Volvo mechanic.
The local Volvo mechanics were quick to arrive on this, their first of many visits, and it was soon
apparent that the engine would need a full overhaul and a rebuild. Initially we were told this would
take up to 10 days... after much investigation, discussion, and compression tests, the engine
was dismantled, craned out, and reassembled in the workshop where the source of the problem
was found… a cracked piston. Now it became clear why we had been spewing out so much
unburnt diesel! Work negotiations continued in Spanish time (siestas, saints holidays, manana
manana etc.) and the overall work took over 2.5 weeks. Consequently we ran a good two
weeks behind our original schedule, and sadly we had to make the hard decision to cancel
plans to meet friends and family in the Canaries (sorry Peter and Lisa).
Quintin volunteered to stay with Skardu to oversee the mechanics and await his brother Tristan’s
arrival (due to crew on the leg to the Canaries). He also used the time wisely to double his
knowledge of Spanish vocabulary with the addition of the following infinitely useful words: fuel
injector pump, oil leak, piston rings, gaskets, kaput… He is looking forward to using them on the
cocktail circuit in Madrid.
Meanwhile Mark and Matt decided to use the spare time to be the vanguard for the crew’s
Morocco trip. Once the decision was made, the bags were packed, and within 30 minutes they
found themselves at the local ferry terminal ready to head to Tangiers. Matt’s search for
adventure on his trip aboard Skardu did not go unfulfilled: theatrical thunderstorms, fighting
swordfish, rough seas, bellicose fisherman, dying engines, dancing dolphins, and an exotic last
minute trip to Morocco! In due course Tristan and Q joined Mark in Marrakesh, and went
exploring from the mountains of the High Atlas to the sand-dunes on the edges of the Sahara
Desert – but that is another story.
