Ibiza

Leaving Cadiz early on Tuesday 30th we had light headwinds at first, but they increased steadily and started to head us, so we diverted to Barbate. We stayed for two days in this fine town and excellent marina. In the late afternoon of Wednesday Pippa went exploring along the splendid beach below a line of fine sandstone cliffs. Returning to the car park she discovered that her folding bike was missing. A man high up a steep slope below the cliffs indicated that he had her bike and that she should climb up to him to retrieve it!!! Though furious, she had the good sense to see the danger of doing so. She screamed at him to bring the bike down otherwise she was going for the police. The police were very good, although rather bureaucratic and of course the bike was lost.
It will have to be replaced, our bikes, as well as being great fun, have enabled us to explore much further afield than we otherwise could.

We left Barbate on Thursday 2nd. As we neared the Straits of Gibraltar, an island on the horizon that had no right to be there, turned out to be Morocco. What a lovely sight: blue mysterious mountains, clouds forming a scarf below their summits. We could see Africa! This grand view and the lovely adjacent coastline of Spain continued until we arrived at Gibraltar. But this is where the romance ended.

Giralta harbour and airport !

The two marinas were full, so following the advice of marina staff and in accordance with information in our almanac, we anchored between the airport runway and the harbour wall of La Linea, behind a line of yellow buoys.

At 2 AM the following morning we were rudely awoken by police in a Rib, banging on our hull, shining bright torches and informing us that we must move. They could give no sensible reason why we should not use this recognised anchorage and were not at all sympathetic to our plight, but when I refused to move on the grounds that it would be unsafe for me to do so in an unknown harbour in the dark, they grudgingly agreed that I could remain until first light. We did move at about 10 AM, just as a second police launch began taking an interest in us. We went to the fuelling berth to top up our tanks and found it austere. Large signs saying not to berth here overnight and no entry to the town from this jetty. We had been looking forward to climbing the rock and hoping to see the migrating eagles Steve Sutcliffe had told us about, but it was not to be. We left at lunch time and set sail in a fresh following wing across the Alboran sea.

The good downwind sailing, jib poled out and a cruising chute set, trade wind fashion, lasted until midnight. Then the wind just died. I got the head sails down, the main sail up and started motor sailing. Within minutes a light wind sprung up and I realised that we could after all sail. The jib was set, the engine stopped and we were close hauled but sailing. Then it got stronger and I had to reef first the jib then the main. We could no longer sail our course, the wind was smack on the nose! I’ve not seen it since and have no wish to see it again, but the wind changed from an easterly force four to a westerly force four in a little over an hour!

We set course for Motril. What a contrast to Gib. The marina was full but the Guardia Civil directed us to a stone wall in the main industrial harbour. There was lots of bureaucracy, with visits from immigration and the port police but without exception they were friendly welcoming and helpful.

Do you need an anchor?

I know where they have some to spare.

After lunch on Sunday 5th we headed for Cartagena, and enjoyed the sailing along this lovely unspoiled coastline. Arriving in the early evening of Monday 6th we anchored for the night just outside this very pleasant harbour and town. Blagging a day visit (no charge) in the very posh super marina, we refuelled, watered and provisioned and left, just behind a visiting cruise liner!!!

Our Navtex indicated we had plenty of time to get to Ibiza before strong northerly winds hit the Baleares. So off we set. In the evening I called up a radio ham on our SSB radio who provides all sorts of information to yachtsmen in the Med. He advised that the strong winds were already arriving, so once again we altered course, this time to Tomas Maestre Harbour. Arriving at midnight to find that substantial changes were being made to the harbour, caused me a few headaches. I was on course to my chosen anchorage when I was stopped by a line of steelwork in the middle of the harbour! I tried a couple of other places and eventually found room to anchor.

In the morning of Wednesday 8th we went through a short canal and under a lifting bridge into Mar Menor, an expanse of inland sea measuring twelve miles by six. We shunned the marina, preferring to anchor in the bay of Isla Perdisura. On landing ashore we discovered tat it was not quite as attractive as it had looked. It was completely deserted and covered with old mine workings and half demolished buildings, all quite spooky.

Isla Perdisuera

That evening the wind got up so we moved to the lee side in search of a place to anchor, all we found was an uncharted sand bank that almost had us aground and a hard shale bottom that wouldn’t hold our anchor. By this time the daylight was going fast, so we moved into the lee of a neighbouring island, Isla Mayor O del Baron. With only minor adjustments to our position to get maximum shelter as the wind shifted, there we stayed for the next three days. The wind howled and the heavens opened, lightning flashed all around and we pitched and rolled. But we were not at sea, we were safe, if not all that sound, at anchor.

Mar Menor