Meanwhile we are sitting in a Bar in Lanzarote and are more than happy to have our feet on solid ground again. The last two weeks from Gibraltar to the Canary islands have been the hardest everyone of us experienced. But first things first.
Already in Gibraltar (or ‚Gib‘ how the locals say) we had our first delay, because our gear box makes a hell of trouble. So we set sails three days later as planned. Nevertheless the atmosphere was good, as we passed Tarifa and headed out on the Atlantic with great speed. Wind direction is perfect and Morocco is whooshing by. A deep pressure area is moving from the Azores and shall reach us in two days with southwesterly winds. That would be straight from the Canary Islands. So every mile we counts as we break speed records. Seven knots and a bit. We are optimistic.
The deep pressure area hit‘s us earlier than we thought – and hit’s us hard. Day by day we are tacking against the wind and are only creeping towards the Canary Islands. With reefed genua sails we are hardly able to stay upwind and we almost stay were we are. The jib, we bought exactly for this situation still in the sewing factory. Pretty bad timing. We are drifting from one side to the other. The wind is blowing with 30 to 40 knots and the waves are reaching heights about eight metres. It is gigantic to see what mountains of water are rolling underneath of us. Sometimes a breaking one changes our cockpit into an aquarium. A real trial of strength for our old lady. Apropos lady – Paula is aboard. She is the only one of us who manages to put a pot of noodles on the stove from time to time. Sounds simple, but it isn‘t. Not in this conditions. The interior is a diagonal space and a boat swing at the same time. Below deck we are only able to lay straight, otherwise we are getting sick. But there are plenty things to do - writing logbook, bailing out water from the bilge, tooth brushing, getting new pills against seasickness from the medibag. The easiest thing become a torture. A heated can or a warm porridge are bringing fresh energy in irregular spacings. Except for Basti. The poor guy got at the same time diarrhoea. The stinkingness-factor is increasing rapidly. Everything is damp, the jackets are stinking, the grease of our hairs is sticking to our pillows and we don’t know yet how the weather is changing the next days. We are dreaming of the small things. A warm soup, chilling on the couch or just eating a piece of pie.
After six days and nights the wind is finally turning. Our GPS is able again to calculate an estimated time of arrival. Unfortunately just a little ray of hope. During the night we get hit by a thunderstorm. „All hands!“ is Basti shouting from a pitch-black cockpit. All mast sliders which connect the mainsail to the mast have broken. Shortly after that, the halyard also breaks and our mainsails is drifting alongside the boat. As if that wasn’t enough, there is a oil tanker heading towards us. Probably the crew is sleeping in their comfortable beds and the autopilot is steering. After plenty of trys to get someone on the radio they finally responded and changed the course. With daylight the clouds are clearing up and some long missed sunbeams are warming our faces. Thats enough of the hard times for now! Wind is decreasing and we are back on track to Lanzarote. What a good feeling! After a shower and fresh clothes we eat grilled vegetables, orange, mango, rice, porridge with fresh apples, some tortilla chips, cheese and salami. Everything tastes wonderful.
