Island of Flowers

Saturday 20th August 2011


Lagoa Funda - a very old volcano crater

We had heard much of the romantic beauty of Flores. Discovered in 1452 by Portuguese, it became a settlement of sorts for miners intent on finding rich mineral resources. This endeavour was soon abandoned until a more successful resettlement in 1504. Flores’ heyday was no doubt its incarnation as a notorious lair (1580’s) for pirates seeking riches of another kind – Spanish galleons returning to Europe laden with gold and spices. Alfred Lord Tennyson immortalised a naval battle between the English and Spanish fleets in The Revenge, an epic poem about this 1591 encounter fought just off the Flores coast.

Fading Beauties - Blue Hydrangeas

The island rests more peacefully now and its 3900 inhabitants enjoy a quiet, rural existence among an abundance of flowers and sweeping green fields.  Flores is a climatic, natural greenhouse, enabled by warm Gulf Stream waters.

We had booked a 3 to 4 hour drive with Cesar, an English & French speaking taxi driver.  He took us from Lajes to see tranquil twin lakes (Funda & Rasa) before heading clockwise around the island.  From a viewpoint high on the western cliffs, we admired the small village of Lajedo, now somewhat of a ghost town, with many of the cottages empty.  “Young people go to Lisbon for university and after, a rural existence in Flores holds little for them”, said Cesar, sadly.  “Our population is not growing.”

Rocha dos Bordoes

We move on to take in the dramatic spectacle of Rocha dos Bordoes (organ pipes) before driving through quaint Mostiero and its terraces held back by hand-built dry stone walls, threaded with ribbons of hydrangea hedges (locally known a hortensia), once brilliant blue, now turning gray with summer’s passing.  Cesar stops at the Miradouro do Portal so that we can take in the sweep of Fajazinah and Faja Grande noting that BW would have been disappointed with current surfing conditions.  Faja Grande has become the “it” village for both locals (to own a holiday cottage) and tourists who come to hike through this scenic island.  “Lots of Germans like to see the island and camp out here. We don’t have many for the surf.” said Cesar.

Corvo in the distance

We took the steep route out admiring many waterfalls and cascades, stopping once to look down on a spectacular view west.  The nearest shores are the US, and don’t we know it!  We couldn’t pass up a glance into Lagoa Negra (now green with algae) and the bottomless Lagoa Comprida (now black).  Further on, as we crossed an impressive roadway that separates Morro Alto, Flores’ highest peak at 914m, and Pico dos Sete Pes, an equally impressive height, we noted two now dry calderia before driving through a pristine forest carpeted with hardy, twisted miniature trees. 

From a vantage point high above Porto Delgarda we could just make out the island of Corvo to the north with its thick rain cloud cap, before stopping to inspect peat moss growing on the steep slopes of surrounding hills.  Cesar told us that in winter, it was impossible to graze cows on these steep, high pastures.  They just fall and roll down the slopes; sadly, not always with a good ending, despite all that soft peat moss.
   

A Day at the Beach in Santa Cruz

Santa Cruz

is the capital of Flores with a population of 1100 or so.  We checked out the new airport (& bathroom facilities) before taking a walking tour around town.  The Piscina Natural is a series of rock pools used as a local “swimming pool”.  We laughed to think that large slabs of concrete had become their beach.  The nearby Porto das Pocas is similarly used now that Lajes has become the premier island port.  We admired the magnificent Igreja Matriz Nossa Senhora da Conceicao, currently being restored and nearby monastery, now museum. (Of course it was closed – it was Saturday!).

At the Local

We waited for Cesar (delivering relatives home after arriving at the airport) at the town square and had a beer or two from the local taverna.  All this sitting, reflecting, gossiping and drinking local beer made us quite relaxed – and besides it was nearly dinner time so we had Cesar drop us off at the Café Beira Mar for the day’s offering – pizza again.  Oh well, we had to walk home to WJ3, snug in her port dock, so who’s counting calories!

Azore there is?

Porto Das Lajes

Porto das Lajes from out at sea

Porto das Lajes is a natural indent in what is otherwise a rocky outcrop; all remnants of prehistoric volcanic activity.  The harbour is surrounded by these high black basalt cliffs, which meet a solid concrete breakwater.  Protection is offered to those nautically inclined in all but nor ‘easterlies.  From our vantage point at water level, we admire quaint cottages that line the Port road, as it climbs steeply to meet a small village.  Lajes is surrounded by terraces of green fields and hand-built stone walls.  It looks rustic; straight from a picture book of a bygone era; and it is, dating from 1510.




WJ3 at the Lajes Marina Dock

WJ3 is one of 8 other sail boats tucked away in Lajes’ very new, very small Marina complex.  Many of these are not travellers.  We’re glad to have avoided high season when Lajes can host an ongoing parade of boating visitors.  We wait at the dock for the GNR man (in his spurs) and customs to fulfil clearance formalities.  Carlos tells us that the Marina, to celebrate its recent opening (and as it is not completed) is free.  We have access to water, power and internet.  Power is 220v, so we must continue to run our generator until we can locate a transformer (yet another expensive boat bit).  We don’t expect to find too much chandlery in Lajes though.

Up the hill some 250m is a kiosk once known as Paula’s Place.  It serves frazzled trans-Atlantic yachties and locals taking a dip at the nearby beach.  The beach is not familiar or pretty - the sand is black, the water cold and grass is mown by goat, but it is popular.  We can take a strong black coffee, sip a cold Sagres (local beer) or nibble sweet cakes at Paula’s but to eat we must climb further up to Café Beira Mar.  Here we gladly take what they have on offer, one day grilled fish and on others, pizza a casa (house) special.  It was all very nice but we notice we are the only ones eating.  Most customers seemed to sit for a short time, take a drink or two, have a chat with friends, then leave.  

At last we brave going further uphill into the village to find an ATM (at the Town Hall) and two mini-markets at the top of the hill to restock our dwindling fresh supplies.  The island lives on imported goods mostly.  There is little produced other than to support family needs.  We buy local Azorean cheeses, sad looking fruit and vegetables, real eggs and fresh bread rolls.  The hill defeats us and we decide, despite Paula being obliging, to leave heavy chores (refilling gas, laundry and a big shop) until Horta.  Taxis are very hard to come by in Lajes.

The town itself has an impressive church, Ingreja Martiz Nossa Senhora do Rosario (1763), rustic cottages painted white with windows decorated in lace, well cared for cobblestone streets and a picturesque town square, resolute with a protective canon or two.  Old folks not sitting in bars or taking a stroll of the port, sit out in the evening quiet, chatting to neighbours.  Younger ones head into Santa Cruz. 

Looking Down from the Town Square

The Cap’n tries unsuccessfully to organise a diving trip (twice), however with Paula’s help and sheer perseverance, we organise with Cesar to take a tour of the island.  Other than these active events we concentrate on tidying up WJ3 and making good on a few small repairs.  The Cap’n even manages to move the solar panels forward a few inches to save Burt’s windvane from certain self-destruction. 

Life on the dock is peaceful despite comings and goings of an occasional container ship, local ferry/transporter and even a mini cruise liner, as we wait for winds suitable for our overnight sail to the island of Faial.  Our next destination is the yachting fraternity that is Horta.  We will certainly miss peaceful Lajes and the strange nightly chatter of birds high in the cliffs above us.

Preserved Lemons!

Sailing east on winds once used by sailors of Spanish galleons made us think about life aboard for them.  Beyond the obvious treasure thing, (Arrrrgh, yes me hearties!  Flores was once a pirate’s lair; a hiding place to ensnare ships loaded with Inca & Aztec gold and West Indies spices) we thought about preserving food supplies.  The ancients used large quantities of salt – it too being a treasure of sorts! – to preserve their beef, olives and pork, amongst other things.  There is so much salt aboard WJ3 (and on us) that we felt we were fast becoming preserved.  A couple of old lemons…..  
 

Repairs at Sea whilst Becalmed

For those interested in our daily routine during those 20 days (What did they do all day?), let me tell you, it wasn’t much.  Time did go quickly however and it was only during foul weather (when WJ3 bucked like a frenzied donkey) that we ever wondered if there was indeed a better way.  GS will only cross oceans again on the QE2; daily showers, hot water, feather beds and large buffets prepared by someone else. 

Irrespective of what other things we were doing, the boat’s progress always came first, day or night time.  This involved furling/reefing and unfurling sails depending on wind direction and speed, tacking, jibing (and other nautical manoeuvres) and sometimes using the spinnaker pole to ‘pole out’ the genoa.  Plus keeping the boat pointed in the right direction which meant fiddling with Burt according to any changes in the breeze’s direction.  We wanted to get to the Azores as quickly as possible. (Too damned right! Ed)

Are you sure you're watching out for sharks, My Sweet?

Our day began with an early morning watch and was there after punctuated with reading, listening to music, snoozing, discussing the weather or doing navigation/boat chores.  We often ate fruit and cereal for breakfast largely because you can serve it standing on your head…  The Cap’n would tweak sails to keep us going east and say a morning prayer to Burt, our self-steering (Hydrovane), who was selfless in his attention to duty.  Don’t leave home without one! 

After sending off an early position report to WJ3’s tracker using our satellite communication system, our thoughts turned to lunch.  Not dry biscuits and cheese again!  Actually lettuce and tomato lasted quite well into the voyage.  Our last week was a bit spare of fresh rations but we’ve lost a few tyres, so it can’t be all that bad.

Around 3pm, the Cap’n would prep for the daily Herb Hour.  Herb Hilgenberg is a famed weather router for North Atlantic & Bahama bound sailors.  It sure was nice to be able to speak to somebody (else), get a personal weather report and be routed around weather systems too nasty to contemplate.  We liked Herb Hour because Cocktail Hour followed immediately.  Once we discovered how to make a meagre portion of ice, we sipped cold drinks and nibbled on chips and nuts, talking about weather and various sightings for the day (pilot whales, sea birds, ships etc).  Then it was dinner before dark.

Dinner depended upon the conditions.  It could be as simple as steak, mash & (tinned) vegies or salad in settled weather or a packet of mash mixed in with a tin of soup in bad - that’s the Captain’s recipe by the way!  Two minute noodles were another favourite.  For those wondering about the steak, our WAECO car fridge/freezer is the best thing since sliced bread!  After clean up, GS usually sent off her second position report, then it was bed for the off-watch. 

Assume the Watch Position (with Ipod)

Each watch usually lasted 3 to 4 hours depending upon how tired we were and continued through the night.  We dressed in our wet weather gear, attractive bib & brace pants and keep-me-dry-and-warm jacket.  Sometimes we wore boots, others just deck shoes.  During the day we usually wore quickdries, largely because the Gulf Stream carries with it plenty of that Caribbean sunshine.  We constantly wore harnesses (GS’s has a life preserver built in) and tethers – clipped to WJ3 by bright yellow ties. 

Only 19 days to go.....

GS mostly slept in the lee cloth berth set up in the saloon; she says it’s like sleeping in a sling shot.  The Cap’n braved the aft quarterberth, comfy with a new mattress, but on occasions was tossed like a salad.  We slept ready to take action if needed – read always dressed, although not in wet weather gear but it was always close by if needed in a hurry eg wind squall/thunderstorm.  We managed a shower once each week (baby wipes otherwise) and even had a mid-Altantic swim in 16404 feet of water, during the calmest becalming.  Don’t ask about washing hair.  GS was sporting salt encrusted dreadlocks by the time we arrived in Flores.

So there you have it – WJ3’s routine. 

And no, we didn’t fish much.  After trailing a lure (Will it be big pinkie or slimy limey today?) for 3 days without success, we gave up.  Not even a fish to preserve with all this salt!  Maybe Admiral Nelson was right – we should have been adding a good slug of brandy to our evening cocktails instead.

Jolly Jack Tars: Weather or Not

This will simply be a review of our weather experiences as we dashed headlong for 20 days into the wild blue yonder, bouncing east across The Pond for the Azores.

What else can we say?  There was lots of salty water, thankfully not too much in the boat and plenty of sky, floodlit at night with stars and a waxing moon.  Somehow our world became fringed by WJ3’s stanchions and embroiled in days of our lives dramatics as GS’s tried valiantly to get daily satellite connections for our weather reports.  Our daily highlight was a voice in the ether – Herb – our weather prophet, who gave us daily readings and directed progress over the HF radio.  Admiral Lord Nelson would have killed to get Herb’s services.

Storm at Sea_Is this the Bermuda Triangle?

Having left Great Kills finally, a day later that planned (the fuel dock owner was busy refuelling his hungry beast) we headed east.  Hail to Mary, Neptune & Garnesh!  After giving us a gentle bollicking for starting late, Herb sent us on a SE track to avoid a huge & nasty front coming down from Newfoundland.  Thus began our descent down to 37 degrees, somewhere in the vicinity of an amazing line of lightning storms (harbouring an entrance to the Bermuda Triangle perhaps?) and almost back to Cape May.  Been here before?

Our efforts to stay ahead of the front saw us languishing in calms – 4 in the first 8 days….until we could stand the rock/roll/twist/up/down/jiggle no more and the Cap’n motored north for an hour….into a squall of 35kts.  Still it was taking us in the right direction (east) so we tightened our tethers and clung to WJ3 as she frolicked with pilot whales and surfed the Gulf Stream, confident in stronger winds. 

We settled in for a couple of good days and a chance encounter with War Ship 64, who was kind enough to enquire after our health and well being.  After 10 days out for us, they probably thought they’d come across a ship of lost souls gibbering at the moon.  Their news was of a gale heading our way so we battened down and got out 3 days of hard tack in preparation.

Our Cap’n weathered out the gale (40+kt winds & rather large seas which lasted 24 hours thankfully), then settled into strong souwesterlies for another couple of days.  We made up some good miles then!  In the gale’s wake however (days 15-17), we experienced  more “variable winds” before a strong southerly had us bashing into it.  Rock, rattle & roll; back to hard rations. 

Pilot Whales in the Gulf Stream

The gray skies vanished on day 18 with the southerly and we resumed our pleasant (but slow) sailing conditions.  We finished with a flourish – becalmed again! – but made it to the south coast of Flores (Flowers) in the Azores having been under sail most of our 20 days at sea.

Despite warnings about entering strange harbours at night, we were keen to touch bottom and get a hook into a sandy bay.  We crawled into Porto Das Lajes and anchored behind an impressive breakwater, hoping that the morning would not find us floating amongst coastal freighters in our snug spot.  Had a wine or two that night, I can tell you!

(Those interested can follow our path on WJ3’s tracker – currently with a few holes in it.  Satellites can be so fickle!). 

From:	Great Kills Harbor, Staten Is	To:	Flores, Porto Das Lajes
Lat/Long:	40:32.5400N  74:07.9210W	Lat/Long:	39:22.7630N  31:10.0490W
Date/Time:	27/7/11: 0820	Date/Time:	15/8/11: 2320
Time Taken:	2735.4nm (481hrs)
Distance:	3627.9nm (628.5hrs) (this year)	Dist Total	8999.9nm (since 2008)
Weather:	Variable - 1 mighty gale, 2 driving squalls, 7 days becalm-ed and a War Ship in a Gulf Stream (ok, ok!)
Fastest Speed:	Sailed all except for an hour of motoring; 9kts or more in the gale