Circumnavigating La Gomera

Sunday 27^th September.

Our visitor Ger, had gone home the previous day. Catherine had gone to the airport with her for the bus ride. We were expecting more visitors, Stuart and Ann, on Friday night, and we were hoping to do some long sailing passages with them.

We had intended to stock up in the Supermarket, but they close for the Sabbath in this part of the world, so we spent the day getting the boat ship shape, and remained in Santa Cruz's Marina Tenerife until Monday to stock up.

Monday evening we left the marina to anchor for the night off Playa de Teresitas, the beach off the pretty village of San Andrés, just north of Santa Cruz, so that we'd get an early start on Tuesday. Teresitas is unusual in the Canaries because it has golden sand imported from the Sahara, rather than the normal black volcanic sand that appears naturally. The anchorage is protected from the North, but it is wide open to any other direction. However, it was a calm night, the little wind there was was off the land, and there was not much swell.

Our destination on Tuesday was Baia de Abona, a more sheltered bay about twenty miles to the South, protected to the Northwest by the village of El Porris, and to the Southeast by the Punta de Abona with it's conspicuous lighthouse.

We spent three nights here, mainly because we developed a problem with the heads that we had to fix. However, this didn't prevent us from having a long swim every morning. We used our snorkels, but the sandy bottom did not give us a lot to look at. Still I was reassured to see my anchor solidly dug in, and there were plenty of fish to entertain us in the crystal clear water.

Finally, by Thursday evening we had the problem fixed, and on Friday morning we weighed anchor. I have always been intrigued by this phrase, but I came a lot closer to understanding it over the following week, as the electric motor on the windlass, which lifts the anchor, failed. Our anchor weighs twenty five kilos, and the chain weighs another two or three per metre, so lifting it manually was going to be hard work. Fortunately for the next week I'd have a 6 foot 3 Scotsman on board to share the grunt-work!

We met up in Marina del Sur in Las Galletas, a new marina on the Southwest tip of Tenerife. Las Galletas itself is an unattractive modern tourist town, but the harbour and marina are attractive and colourful. However the pontoons are fingerless, and this means we had to berth “stern-to” in Mediterranean fashion, not something I am practiced at, so coming in was quite stressful, although thankfully without incident.

Our original plan had been to do three long over night passages, visiting the Canaries' two westernmost islands, El Hierro and la Palma, but the forecast was for light winds all week, so rather than spending the week motoring, we opted instead to a circumnavigation of the island of La Gomera twenty miles West of Tenerife. La Gomera is a roughly circular shaped island, about 12 nautical miles in diameter, and therefore, about forty in circumference.

Saturday, 3^rd October, we left Las Galletas and had a comfortable sail, the highlight of which was spotting a group of pilot whales about half way across. Although we'd sailed the whole way from Ireland, and spent quite a bit of time cruising here and there, these were our first whales.

We anchored that night in Baia de Abalo, just north of La Gomera's capital San Sebastion, a snug little bay on the East coast of the island. Ashore, there were several camper vans and cars, and a small shop. On Sunday morning we went swimming, and I went ashore, but there was little evidence of activity, and walking barefoot on the sharp volcanic stoney beach was not too enticing so I returned to the water promptly.

Stuart and I humped up the anchor and we set sail for Baia de Hermigua on the North of the island. Here the bay was rather more open, and there was some swell, but it was manageably comfortable. There was a bar and some buildings overlooking the bay, and the pilot book promised a town just one mile inland, we decided to pump up the dinghy and explore before dinner.

I should have remembered that swell and the steep shores of the Canary islands are a mix that are not entirely suitable for landings on beaches. As we approached the shore under oars, a moments lapse of concentration and a wave turned us sideways and deposited us on the beach with an inch of seawater in the dinghy, and leaving the four of us more than a little splashed. Before we had a chance to get out, a second wave broke over us, filled the dinghy, and left us all thoroughly soaked.

Catherine and I rowed back to get dry clothes, with just two up the dinghy rode the waves, somewhat precariously, but we made the round trip to Aragorn and back without a further ducking. However, later on, having sampled the beer in the town, with four on board the dinghy returning to Aragorn, it didn't manage the surf so nimbly, and we took another drenching as the waves broke over the bow of the dinghy and it was full of sea water by the time we got past the surf. Another change of clothes required before dinner. It would have all been in the spirit of fun, except Stuart's camera sustained what appeared to be terminal damage in the drenchings.

Not surprisingly, the next morning there wasn't the same enthusiasm for a swim, so once again Stuart and I lugged up the anchor the old fashioned way and we sailed for Puerto Vueltas in Valle Gran Rey on the West coast.

I have already said that the forecast was for light winds, however, in the Canary Islands, because of the effect the land has on the wind, there is often a stiff breeze near the shore even on calm days. This particular Monday morning it was blowing from the West, the direction we wanted to go. I figured that if we sailed Northwest until we cleared the island we could then sail South. Unfortunately, the wind was following the coast rather than simply blowing from the West, my tactic simply made our journey ten miles longer, and when we turned the wind stayed on the nose so we had to motor anyway.

It was evening when we reached the crowded anchorage of Puerto Vueltas, and we managed to anchor in a spot squeezed between the harbour, the rocks, and other boats, with a kedge (a second anchor off the stern) preventing us from swinging into anything hard. No sooner were we done but harbour security were telling us we were blocking the ferry and had to move, but that we could tie up to the harbour wall for free. Neither statement was true, as another boat soon afterwards occupied our spot unmolested, and we were billed the next morning at marina rates for our night on the wall. Still the convenience of being able to come and go ashore without risk of a soaking, especially after the previous evening, was worth it. Except that Stuart and I now had to go man-hauling up the two anchors that we'd just put down.

Just as we had finished tying to the wall a Clubsail training boat came in and berthed in front of us. As the crew were tying up I heard the unmistakable sound of Cork accents, and sure enough, we met Grace, Gary and John, who were taking a sailing course. Then, just as we were getting ready to go look for a restaurant for dinner, I hear Stuart say “Pat, you're not going to believe this”, and I look out to see another sailing boat arrive flying the Wexford yacht club's ensign. Of the three lads on board, two were German, and although they told me their names twice, I could not get them. The Irishman on board was Ian, and I asked them to take my bast wishes back to my pals Dermot Greer and Jackie Connick in their club.

Tuesday morning, having spent the night tied to the wall we thankfully had no anchor hauling to do. We left at 12:45, bound for San Sebastion, the capital, on the East coast, and the completion of our circumnavigation. The wind was blowing once again along the coast, but today, mercifully, it was blowing from the North, i.e., behind us. Better, as we rounded onto the South coast it backed westerly, staying behind us, and as we turned North for the final leg it again backed and followed us all the way. Our speed varied with that of the wind ranging from a pedestrian four knots up to a screaming eight and a half, but we covered the thirteen miles in two and a half hours.

Once in the marina, I did what most sailors would do, and had a good nose around the boats. It must be quite a haunt for the Irish, because I counted no less than six other Irish boats, that's the most I have seen in the one place since leaving Dun Laoghaire. These included Jilliana of Galway, whose graffiti we had already spotted back in Porto Santo, however there was no one on board that I could see while we were there. I got back to the boat to find Catherine had lost one of her pink flip flops overboard.

Early on in the week, I had suggested without much enthusiasm that we could spend two nights in San Sebastion and rent a car to explore the island by road. Stuart had jumped at the idea, and now I was glad that he did. The interior of La Gomera is a lush green rain forest. Having circumnavigated the island, and seen nothing but harsh volcanic rock with little or no vegetation, this was a sight to behold. We also saw up close where the hills had been carved into terraces by generations of farmers creating small patches of green in the steep barren hills of rock.

Stuart and Ann's flight home was on Friday early afternoon, so we planned to be back in Tenerife on Thursday. For some reason, I had gotten the idea that the distance back was only about twelve miles, where as in fact it is twice that. As a result, I was quite laid back about time of departure, and we ate lunch before we left. When we eventually did leave we were under some pressure to arrive in Las Galletas by dark, but we made it alright, despite stopping en route to watch the pilot whales again.

Saturday, 10^th October, visitors safely back in Scotland, and faced with the prospect of having to manually haul anchor without a big lug of a Scot to share the work, I decided to have a go at fixing the windlass motor. I worked up quite a sweat as I struggled with my head and one shoulder squeezed into the chain locker to detach the motor, eventually I got Catherine to have a go. When neither of us had any success I rang Clubsail (them what had the sail training boat in Puerto Vueltas, according to the pilot book they have a good reputation for yacht repairs, plus our new Cork friends were full of their praises). So I booked their engineer for Monday morning and spent the weekend writing up my blog!

Monday morning came and went with no sign of the Clubsail guy and no one answering the phone I had booked him on. Some enquiries led me to the mechanic in the local boatyard, and he's working on it now (Tuesday). Here's hoping it will be sorted soon. I'll let you know.

In the meantime, Hasta luego!

Using your buckets

I have mentioned a few times that the anchorages in the Madeira Islands are "rolly". By this I mean the swell, or more simply the waves, cause the boat to roll side to side and pitch forward and aft.

The pitching is usually not as uncomfortable as rolling, because the boat is three times as long as it is wide, the same wave travelling the width of the boat will be three times as abrupt. Still, because we sleep at the back of the boat a largish swell from directly aft can give us a fairly sleepless night.

However, it is the waves travelling across the width of the boat that give us the most discomfort. Of course, if we were millionaires we could stay in marinas all the time, but that not being the case, we decided to try to do something.

Once anchored we hung a large twenty litre bucket off the end of the boom and let the boom out as far as it would go, with the top of the bucket level with the water so as it would fill. We put a second bucket out on the other side at the end of the spinaker pole. The idea is, when the boat rolled, one of the buckets would be lifted, as it would be full of seawater it would dampen the effect of the roll. The rope on the other bucket would simply go slack, so there is no see-saw effect. When the boat rolled back the buckets simply reversed roles.

It is hard to know whether it improves things, but at least we feel we are fighting back, and it does create some bemused questions from our neighbours in the anchorage.

Madeira

Leaving Porto Santo, it was only a matter of hoisting our sails and pointing Southwest, the wind providing us with all the transport energy we needed. After an easy downwind day sail we arrived in Baia do Obra, a small bay to the south of a crooked finger shaped peninsula at the Eastern tip of Madeira Grande.

Although we had the anchorage to ourselves, the area is popular with hillwalkers and land based sightseers. The bay is sheltered from any wind with a Northerly component, which at this time of year is any wind at all. However despite assurances to the contrary, the swell came in and we had quite a rolly time of it. “Rolly”, we were soon to discover, applies to every anchorage in the Madeiras. After a couple of nights we decamped to the nearby marina in Quinto do Lorde to provision and “check-in” with the authorities.

We were impressed by the friendliness of the marina staff, the courtesy bus to and from the supermarket in the nearby town of Machico, and the cleanliness and standard of the showers. But that was it. The fairways were too narrow and the pontoons too small, so much so that only a single boat could be moored in each marina bay, and all the berths on the opposite side of our fairway had to be left empty to avoid a blockage. In addition, aside from a half dozen or so completed buildings in the immediate vicinity of the marina, the place was a building site. However, the worst of it is what they are building looks like a pathetically twee dinky town, perhaps suitable for the lowest common denominator tabloid tourist market, but not great for cruising boats.

Enamoured as we were by the marina we left the next day to sail the fifteen miles to the Islas Desertas, three small uninhabited islands to the South, a privelage we had to get special permission for. However our two day pass only allowed us access to a short tourist trail within the rangers' compound. We were escorted around by a polite young student, however he had very little knowledge and the rangers themselves seemed unenthused by visitors.

While there we explored some of the caves by dinghy, and I made my first attempt at snorkelling. The crystal clear water was ideal and we could plainly see the rocks on the seabed. But I confess, I couldn't quite master breathing with my face under the water, and I eventually settled for swimming without the snorkel.

The return trip to Madeira Grande was a Northwesterly course to the capital Funchal, about half way along the South coast. With a tiny bit of East in the Northerly wind we were able to sail close hauled, bashing into wind it was not the most comfortable of sails, but at only twenty five miles it was still an easy trip. As we approached Funchal I called up the marina on VHF to see if they had room, but as I expected they were full, so we anchored outside.

You might think from what I have written thus far that Madeira failed to impress. Up to our arrival in Funchal, you'd be right. Rolly anchorage or not, Funchal is as pretty a city as I have seen. The land rises steeply up the 1500 metre mountains which are almost permanently in cloud; the cloud provides the city, indeed the island, with shade from the ferocity of the sun; the damp climate cloaking the mountainside in rich green; the suburbs snuggling into the vegetation; and from the anchorage in the middle of Funchal's crescent shaped bay the panorama that surrounds you is Tolkienesque.


We arrived in Funchal on Sunday 30th August, our tenth wedding anniversary. We celebrated in some style, finding a classy little restaurant beyond the tourist zone, where we dined on kid and duck.

Another day we hired a car and drove around and through the Island. Near the tops of the mountains the clouds rolled and tumbled and flowed. One minute we'd be driving in fog, only to emerge suddenly in bright sunlight, to an amazing view of a mountain valley, or the steep cliffs of the coast. The hills were so steep that our car frequently struggled, sometimes even in second gear. The rainwater from further up the mountains ran in fast little streams by the side of the road, we speculated what it would be like in rainy season later in the year. But don't be put off by all this talk of rain, for in the heat it evaporated so quickly that frequently the ground remained dry.

One day we travelled by bus and cable car to the suburb of Monte. This is the final resting place of the Emperor Charles, the last of the Hapsburgs, who died in 1922 barely six months after arriving. Monte is also peculiar for its road sledges, literally sledges that slide down the steep roads, contolled by two drivers standing at the back, the punters pay about €15 a head for a five minute ride.

Other days we just walked the town, or sat in the cockpit reading, and glancing up from time to time at the beautiful view.

One final thing, that in my opinion encapsulates the friendliness and generousity of the local population. The marina here is tiny, with only a handful of visitors berths, so most visitors are obliged to anchor outside. The plus side of this is it's free. But, even if anchored off and not paying a penny, the marina facilities, including showers and water, are available free.

We'll be leaving in a couple of days, but Madeira, and especially Funchal, is already on our places to come back to list.

Greetings from windy Porto Santo

Porto Santo,. As I’m sure you all know, is the Northernmost island of the Madeira archipelago, about 20 miles north of Madeira itself. The anchorage is secure, but the boat was rolling a lot in the swell, so we came in to the marina to get a good night’s kip. The wind is blowing force 5 to 6 and is due to stay until Monday, so we will as well. It’s about 30 miles to the first anchorage in Madeira, where we’ll head to once we leave here.

We arrived Porto Santo on Thursday evening (20th) after an 81 hour sail from Portimao in the Algarve. The trip, at 450 nautical miles, was our longest yet, but aside from the occasional pod of dolphins that paused to say hello, it was uneventful. It was non stop sailing from the time we left, we only had the engine on for about 10 hours, and half of that was in neutral – just to recharge the batteries because of a power hungry autohelm. The last five hours of the trip was under engine too, to make sure we arrived before dark.

For the first couple of nights under way we were either trying to get to sleep when we were off watch, or trying to stay awake when we were on. But by the third day we were getting into the rhythm, appetites started to return, and we were pretty well adjusted. Also, on the first night we were crossing the entrance to the Cape St Vincent Traffic Separation Zone (that’s the area of sea designated for big ships coming in and out of the Med), which was fairly busy so we had to stay alert. After that we only saw two or three ships a day, so by the third night we were relaxed enough to take catnaps while on watch, happy that the instruments (radar & AIS) would alert us to any danger if we overslept.

The weather was also good for the trip. The first night the wind got up to about force 5 or 6, and I was cursing myself for not reefing before it got dark. The swell was up to about 3 metres, but the waves weren’t breaking so there was no danger. It did make for something of a bumpy ride, and no help for the off-watch trying to sleep below. The next evening I made no such oversight, and put a reef in the mainsail just before dark. Typically, the wind never got above force 3 after that. We didn’t mind, after the excitement of the first 36 hours banging along at seven to eight knots, it was a relief to do some easy sailing at five or six knots.

So what else can I tell you about Porto Santo. I’ve already said it’s about 450 miles from Portugal, it’s also about 350 miles from the Moroccan coast, Agadir being almost directly East, and about 250 miles North of the Canary islands. My ladybird history of the place - it was discovered uninhabited by accident in the late fourteenth century when a Portuguese ship got knocked off course during a storm and took shelter in the lee of the Island. The Portuguese came back to take over the place, and while they were at it took Madeira too. About 7 miles long by 4 miles wide, 5% the size of Madeira, population about 3,500, only one town in the island, but has an airport and a daily ferry service to Funchal in Madeira. The early settlers here found it was good for growing sugar cane, and a sugar merchant who came to live here (and married the governor’s daughter), went by the name of Christopher Columbus. That was before he came to the conclusion that he could get to India by sailing West. His house is still standing (or has been restored) and is now a museum. We were there today.

One other feature of the place is the harbour wall. Apparently it’s tradition for boats passing through to leave their graffiti on the wall. In true parochial Paddy fashion I went looking for the Irish boats. I found seven in all, but the first two I recognised, Jilliana of Galway, the Pender’s boat, listed Dave Gerrard (my VHF instructor) on their crew list, and then I found Yacht Pala, belonging to my pals Johnny and Emer (on this mailing list). For the record, the other five are Joyster of Galway, Saoirse, Murphy’s Law, and two Belfast boats, Breakaway and Bláth na Mara. Catherine, being the Artist on board, will be making our contribution, but that will have to wait until Monday when the hardware shop opens (not having any green or orange paint on board).

As for our plans, well as always they may change at a moments notice, (a few of you are expecting us to be in Morocco, we were going but had a change of heart when we realized that our time there would coincide with Ramadan, so we’ll leave our Moroccan cruising for another time). However, for now we intend to spend a week or so between here and Madeira (or correctly Madeira Grande), then head South 160 miles to the uninhabited Salvage Islands just for a couple of days, and then a further 100 miles to the Canary islands. Once we get to the Canaries we’re thinking that we’ll spend some time there, island hopping as the mood and wind takes us. We’ve been told that once there an Atlantic crossing is hard to resist, as so many boats are passing through the Canaries en-route to the Caribbean, but while I’d be tempted, the practicalities of getting back terrify me, so we’ll see!

We’ll also be home for a few weeks from the end of October, we have flights already booked from Tenerife, so we’re hoping to have the boat all tucked up in a marina there for the duration.

May 2009

So, I've been getting some stick for not having posted anything in a while, so here is our latest ...

For the last 10 days we have been in El Rompido in Andalusia in the Bay of Cadiz. This is a pretty little place, picture left, protected by a 10km long sandspit, known as El Gato, that runs West to East parallel to the coast. It's about thirty Km from the Portuguese border.

Coming from the West, as we did - from Tavira in Portugal to be precise, we had to go around the spit, as the entrance is on the Eastern end. The wind, which was a gentle breeze on our backs all the way suddenly decided to get up just as we arrived. That not only made it a bit hairy coming in over the shallow bit at the entrance, but made the trip back up the Ria Piedras inside the spit with 30 knots on the nose a little uncomfortable. The entire 10 km back is filled with small boat moorings. At a guess I'd say there were between 3 and 5 thousand. The fuel pontoon and the small marina mark the end of the moorings. Beyond the marina there is a massive anchorage lagoon.

[ The picture on the left shows one of the millions of fiddler crabs that come out of the mud at low water. They are called "Fiddler" because their single oversized claw, that gives the appearance that they are playing the violin. Rojo, one of the marina's Marinieros tells me that you can make €30 a kilo by collecting their claws. Apparently you break off the claw, throw the crab back, and then he grows it again.]

The Marina is part of a El Rompida's golf hotel, and is probably the best we have visited to date, considering showers, 24 hour security, friendly Marinieros, etc. Also, as high season doesn't start here until 1st June, they are still on Winter prices, which are half the Summer rate, only €15 a night.

Of course, being penny pinching live-aboards, we only come into the marina to treat ourselves on Saturdays. The rest of the time we've been anchored in the lagoon, which we've had to ourselves except for a few small angling boats who stop for a few hours in the daytime. We have been here since Wednesday week, and today being Sunday we've just spent our second night in the Marina. We're going back on the anchor today, but because the river runs so fast we are waiting for the turn of the tide to get out at slack water.

Being anchored presents its problems though, as it is nearly as expensive to bring the dinghy into the marina for an hour's shopping as to park the boat there overnight and access all the facilities. Because the river banks are shallow, and the riverbed is half a metre of mud, getting ashore anywhere near low water can be messy, at least on the town side. So we stock up at the weekends and if we need to get ashore for anything it is easy enough around high water.

We did park the dinghy in the marina and pay the €6 one day. That time we took the bikes and cycled the 8 Kilometres to the larger town of Cartaya, to take advantage of its supermarkets. After a light lunch in a café in the town square, over looked by the storks nesting in the surrounding rooftops, we found a Lidl and a Carrefour on the town perimeter. This itself was an achievement, as asking and receiving directions in a language you can't understand ain't easy. Unfortunately neither shop had any fresh milk, the only thing that we really needed. They all go for UHT milk here, which we don't find very appetising on our muesli.

Back at El Rompido's sandspit, El Gato is only a few hundred metres wide, and the interior, if it can be called that, has been preserved as a nature reserve. The sand turns to mud below the high water line on the riverbanks, and between traffic and pollution is not the most enticing swimming location. But El Gato's southern shore is a beautiful sandy beach for the whole ten kilometres, and perhaps more to the west beyond where it merges with the mainland. It is only a few hundred metres across, and for access to the beaches and to preserve the delicate eco-culture there are a number of boardwalks traversing the spit. There is a ferry service that runs constantly from El Rompido, but of course we just launch the dinghy and come and go as we please. We've been for quite a few swims, the water is pleasantly warm once you get over the initial shock.

As I mentioned, we came here from Tavira in Portugal, where we'd spent an extended long weekend with Maura and Paul on "Noble Warrior", another Irish boat. Tavira is a very beautiful largish town a few kilometres from the anchorage. The anchorage itself is small and shallow, and is protected by Tavira island, apparently the largest in the algarve. We also went swimming off the beautiful sandy beaches off its southern shore.

Tomorrow we are heading back to the river Guadiana, which marks the Spanish/Portuguese border, where we have already spent the month of April this year, and a couple of weeks last September. More on that another time.

I've got to sign off now, we're moving the boat soon & I've a bit of work to do sorting stuff out, filling tanks, etc.

I'll try not to leave it so long before the next update.

Audio links

Some of the yarns on this site are recorded & you can play them through the following links; (You might have to copy & paste),

Stuck in the mud:
www.rte.ie/radio1/seascapes/rams/2007/4auguste.smil

Climbing the mast
www.rte.ie/radio1/seascapes/rams/2008/7january4.smil

Lifting out
www.rte.ie/radio1/seascapes/rams/2008/17march3.smil

One for Ireland
www.rte.ie/radio1/seascapes/rams/2008/4aug4.smil

Gijon, Spain
www.rte.ie/radio1/seascapes/rams/2008/1sep5.smil

Leaving France
dynamic.rte.ie/quickaxs/209-pategan-2008-10-28.smil

Some retirement

“What did you do before you retired, Pat?” Rory from “Whale Song” asked. “I'm not retired”, I shot back, “I'm a full time sailor”. He chuckled back, “Good answer”.

But I wasn't joking, at fifty two I'm not even thinking of retirement, I've got stuff to do. Aside from that, my meagre savings and pension fund were inadequate to provide for my old age before the markets went pear shaped, so retiring now is out of the question.

And yet, everyone thinks I'm retired, “living a life of leisure”, “swanning around on my yacht”. How can I blame them when even a fellow traveller like Rory makes that assumption.

Indeed my life these past few weeks would further enforce the view. I have managed to make small progress on the Winter To Do list, on top of the routine chores of cooking, cleaning and shopping. But in honesty the progress is slight, and Catherine both leads the domestic front and takes the lion's share of the work.

Still I must admit in the last twenty days, since our return from Ireland, I have taken my foot off the pedal for a much needed rest. Cruising down here, port hopping about thirty miles at a time, did fulfill our objective of cruising Brittany, the North of Spain, and Portugal. Doing it all in three months, although not exactly whistlestop, was still quite a rush. Added to that was a continual pressure to meet natural milestones as Autumn approached; to get through the North of Spain and around Finisterre before the August fogs took hold; Then get around Cape St Vincent and into the Algarve before Catherine left to catch her prebooked flight to a wedding in Boston.

My pal Erland came to crew while Catherine was away, and we took Aragorn to her winter berth in Portimao. Still, there was no time to relax. I had a week after he went home to sort out the boat, trussing it up so that I could be confident it would be secure when unattended. Half an hour's work you say, but you'd be wrong. Dinghies had to be deflated, and they and their outboards had to be stowed, no mean feat on a liveaboard, where every cubic inch of stowage has already been accounted for. All that done then Aragorn had to be cleaned top to bottom, inside and out. This in addition to the mundane stuff of keeping body and soul, shopping, cooking, laundry. Plus, a couple of train trips to Lagos and Olhao to arrange liftouts etc.

Two weeks back in Ireland, but no let up. Year end accounts had to be got in; there were a few chores to do; promises to keep; catching up with friends and family; tying up some business loose ends; preparing and delivering a talk on our experiences so far in Pool Beg; and finally catching the Irish leg of the Boston wedding before returning to Portugal.

It has all been great! We've thoroughly enjoyed it. It's been exhilerating. And it's been exhausting. So no I have no compunction about taking it easy for a few weeks. I'm doing no more than the essential, plus whatever else takes my fancy. I've earned it. Next week we have two batches of visitors, which by itself will crank up the pace of activity. After that I just might attack the To Do list with new zest, but that's definately a maybe.

It is true that we have yet to find a method to generate funds out of our enterprise, so perhaps this too suggests we are retired, but let me just say one thing; if this is retirement, then it is no place for the old!