All Action No Communication D14 22/05/21
May 20th, our third day on the boat really tested us, both as a unit and individual, but we're stronger and better prepared from it.
After my swim, I expected the boring smooth sailing to start, but I underestimated three key points.
I. We left on less than ideal conditions to deliver this ship on a deadline.
II. Difficult conditions aside, the path to Gran Canaria is full of cargo ships, private boats, and goddamn Spanish fishing boats.
III. Finally, given we are the first to use this boat, we have to fix problems as they appear.
Yesterday in the midst of heavy rain, fog, and less than gentle waves, we decided to have our apero, if only because it was 6 pm. Suddenly what looked and sounded like a fire alarm went off.
As Thomas heads to the electric panel to diagnose the problem, Patoch and I are still sipping our drinks unaware of the shit storm we're about to embark on.
As we slowly, but implicitly understand water has infiltrated the babord floater, we get up to help. Needless to say, the cause was the water impacting us from all angles, surpassing the front storage's pump capacity.
Thomas guides me to the manual pump, which is attached to a tube he puts in the source of the issue. As I start pumping, I see the rest of the crew entering the babord cabins with buckets... yes buckets, to throw water in the boat, out the boat. But, the Cap is calm and we're in sight of Spanish shores, we are safe.
After 10-15 mins of pumping I felt satisfied, much like that pathetic first run in a while. Mind you I'm still unsure if we're in actual danger, furthermore I occasionally felt like there was nothing left to pump.
Nonetheless given it was my only way to help, I decide to pump as though our safety depended on it. What proceeded was 45 min of haze, losing the shores to fog while a cargo ship I hadn't noticed vanishes in the mist, all action no communication.
The situation was contained and we knew what changes to make, hence the unplanned stop in Baiona. When reading this to the Cap, his only word was "intense", goes to show the difference in perspective when you don't understand the situation, this was nothing new to him.
Throughout the day the real challenge I awaited had yet to come, that night I had the middle Quart, between 3 and 6 am. For which I had to be particularly attentive as we exited the Golfe de Gascogne to surround the Cap Finister (top left corner of Spain), a zone saturated with boats. Thankfully the rain had ceased, waves calmed, and the fog disappeared. A nearby ship sharing our itinerary kept me alert, however it was a relatively calm night.
With twenty minutes left on my watch, I was trailing the ship near us from behind and I could see a white light on the horizon. It was most likely a fishing boat that didn't appear on the AIS radar. The ship I trailed suddenly took an aggressive 45° turn right, I didn't think much of it. The light on the horizon was growing clearer, it was now accompanied by a green light (tribord), giving me the information I need to understand the direction it was going.
With 10 mins left on my watch I decide to wake Patrice early for advice, as I return to the deck the green light turned red, it had changed direction cutting infront of our path. Suddenly it appeared, clear as day from the darkness, had I misjudged its distance? Red light, Red light, it means it's going right to left? Right?
Patrice should be on his way, do I hurry him? Do I have the time? My instincts want to reverse both throttles in an attempt to run away from the problem. I reverse only the tribord [right] propellor, in order to make the boat rotate on itself as the babord keeps going forward. It's turning but not as it should, I forgot to remove the the autopilot. The ship is avoided, I realize I was never in actual danger, yet my hands are left trembling.
It was a fishing boat following a group of fish, I only saw them clearly because they had projectors on the fish.
The following day we close in on the shores of Galicia, passing by Vigo and stopping in Biona, one of the most surreal shore lines I’ve ever seen. Check on maps, it’s as if the lands act like a gated entrance to a great basin of water. The land is green similar to a tropical landscape, devouring any man made structure that isn’t maintained, leaving abandoned homes on secluded beaches. We stuff the water passage to the front storage and sail away.
Much Love,
DT
