Horta Ho!

Horta, Faial

Faial is known locally as “Ilha Azul”, meaning blue island, but from our vantage point at sea, it shone through cloud cover like a beautiful emerald.  We rounded the impressive Caldo di Inferno before sliding into the Horta Marina reception dock, WJ3 resplendent in plastic fenders, to protect her from serious concrete burn.  The Cap’n quickly completed check-in procedures and we chugged off to our “finger” at Dock C15.  We would stay here until we left, we decided.

A very busy Horta Marina

The marina is busy despite it being well past the May/June peak season.  Visitors are mostly European with a few late North American stragglers (like us).  We are rubbing shoulders with fishing boats, impressive cruisers (one with helicopter & international crew), and all sizes and shapes of sail boats.  The Europeans have a fondness for aluminium boats and the Cap’n eyes them, dreaming I suspect, of WJ4.  Some are plastic fantastics like WJ3, others are solid, all weather cruisers.  A few are certainly home designed character boats.  We share one commonality – we’ve all crossed at least a 1000 miles of ocean to get here.

Calling Cards, Character Boat & Mt Pico beyond

Not that we’re alone.  Horta has an impressive visitor’s list including Sir Walter Raleigh, who in 1597 burnt the port to the ground; Captain Cook (yes, our Captain Cook) in 1775 with less aggressive intentions; Joshua Slocum, famous single-handed sailor in 1895 and Charles Lindenburg on his transatlantic (sea plane) flight in 1933.  There are many others who in more recent times have left their “calling cards” on the harbour sea walls.  We find Brindabella, Ragamuffin and a few other Aussies amongst the hoards of Europeans, especially those seafaring Viking descendants!

The Port offers us everything we could need.  The Cap’n frequents accommodating MAYS to get “a few bits of chandlery” and sets us up with a transformer so that we can connect to the 220v system.  A large supermarket sits a short walk away and plenty of nice cafes and restaurants line the old town.  We’re tempted to try them all! 

Exploring the Old Port, Horta

When chores are all done (8 loads of washing included – still there’s a nice little bar outside to sit and have a wine or two while you wait!!) we explore the island by local bus.  The round island bus takes about 2 hours and we see impressive natural arches cut into a rugged coastline, a sparse ash desert left by the 1958 eruption of Volcao dos Capelinhos on the western tip and cute traditional cottages; whitewashed, roofed with terracotta tiles and surrounded by well tended gardens.  Happy cows graze in terraced fields, although we wonder how they don’t fall over the edge - the island is ringed by jagged basalt cliffs and we see few fences, just hydrangea or cane hedges.

Fort of Santa Cruz 16th C

Exploring the town further we visit the Horta Museum, housed in a beautiful Jesuit College.  The collection though small, is impressive especially the fig pith carvings of Euclides Rosa.  A traditional long black cloak and hood (18^th c) contrasts with sparse modern paintings by Gina Frazao.  Next door, the Church of Sao Salvador (1680) is resplendent in carved and gilded timber panels, religious statuary, and oil paintings; the interior further enriched with silver and ivory. Famous blue tiled panels (azulejos) add a local note to the glitz.  It is now easy to understand historic influences on architect Gaudi and how he came to design his famously decorative masterpieces. (Yes, yes, I know he’s Spanish….).  It’s all in the blood, you see. 

Don't disturb me, I'm very busy!
Note Paul Theroux's "Pillers of Hercules", essential ready in prep for the Med!!

All this Grand Touring brings on a thirst for a Sagres or two and we saunter with locals along the town seawall in the late afternoon to find a tempting watering hole.  Porto Pim looks nice and we chat with a friendly Dutch couple who moved here more than 10 years ago.  Why ever not?  Perhaps we should go.  In just another day or so.  Hmmm, maybe….

From:	Flores, Porto Das Lajes	To:	Faial, Horta
Lat/Long:	39:22.7630N  31:10.0490W	Lat/Long:	38:32.0090N  28:37.5160W
Date/Time:	22/8/11: 1000	Date/Time:	23/8/11: 1425
Time Taken:	135nm (30.5hrs) (this trip)
Distance:	3763nm (659hrs) (this year)	Dist Total	9135nm (since 2008)
Weather:	W turning WNW 10-15kts G20; seas 4-5’; a few overnight showers
Fastest Speed:	Poled out most of trip for a great run down to Horta; 6kts; danced with golfinhos (Atlantic spotted dolphins); sadly no baleias (whales) seen

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 - Sadly we were too late for the best of the 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 moved 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!).

Saturday arvo at the Local. The Captain's shoes are falling apart too...

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, Flores

Porto das Lajes from out at sea; such a beautiful sight for sore eyes!!

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 Porto das Lajes Marina Dock.  Hi WJ3!  Can you see us?

Amazing pained tile work

WJ3 is one of 8 other sail boats tucked away a very new, very small Marina complex in Lajes.  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 yet completed) is fee 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 to Porto das Lajes from the Town Square

The Cap’n tried unsuccessfully to organise a diving trip (twice), however with Paula’s help and sheer perseverance, we organised with Cesar to take a tour of the island.  Other than these active events we concentrated on tidying up WJ3 and making good on a few small repairs.  The Cap’n even managed 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 though, 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

So you may well ask, "What did they do all day"?

For those interested in our daily routine during those 20 days, 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, from now on, only cross oceans again on the QE2; with associated comforts such as 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 (yes, forward!) 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?
(You can just see lots of tiny bright yellow fish following WJ3 & the Cap'n) 

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 (Ryevita) 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 tummy 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, whales, sharks 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 (a 12 volt 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 comfortable 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 quarter berth, very 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.  It was always close by if needed in a hurry eg wind squall/thunderstorm.  We managed a fresh water shower once each week (baby wipes or a bucket of salt water otherwise) and even had a mid-Atlantic 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 managed some sleep after we 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 grey 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