As we had existed on snacks during the race, we thought we would now go ashore, have a look round, and get a meal. According to Hugh, boats to and from the beach were suppose to be laid on, but after 10 minutes spent shouting “ mariniero” and “ bote” with no response, we became discouraged and were just about to inflate our Avon (dinghy), when a dark shape loomed up out of the darkness. It turned out to be the dinghy of a powerboat which was usually moored next to Hugh’s Tiburon back in Las Palmas, and whose hired hand had recognized his voice. We all piled in and soon landed through fairly heavy surf, on a steep beach. About a mile further along the beach, so we had been told, was a hotel.
As we started in this direction, other lost souls joined us in our trek (confusion, confounded). Rounding a headland, we saw brilliant lights coming from a very large building, several stories high, and stumbling over boulders and patches of soft sand, eventually reached it, only to find that it was still under construction and not yet opened. As we stood wondering what to do, a car came along a dirt road and stopped. Out jumped Thomas Navaro, the skipper of the Trimaran Atlantis. (Whose only words of English are “ I am going to the country”, interpolated as often as possible into any English conversation he can break in to, but a really nice chap). He had apparently commandeered the village’s only taxi and learned that there was another hotel about 2 miles down the road.
He bundled about 8 of us inside, and off we went, bouncing along the dirt road at 50 mph swerving every few yards to avoid boulders. We off loaded at the hotel, and the taxi went back for the others. The hotel was a single story hacienda style building, complete with swimming pool and all the trimmings. It was set in the middle of nowhere, was German owned and catered for German tourists, who came there for a quiet peaceful time. They certainly didn’t get it that night, or the next.
Penny and Ann Bayldon, were the only women to come on the race. The local yachtsmen seldom take female crews, regarding this type of race as an excuse for a stag party. In any case the stripped club boats would be too uncomfortable for the average women. Perhaps that’s why they strip them; the party was still going on when we left, after having our meal. When we got back on board again it was nearly midnight.
Penny had been taken sick with violent stomach pains towards the end of the race and still had them when we went ashore. One of the Spanish boats belonged to a doctor, (a specialist from the Las Palmas hospital) and he examined Penny at the hotel, diagnosed acute appendicitis and recommended that she transfer to the naval vessel and go home in that. As it was too choppy to transfer, she stayed in bed and gradually recovered (when we were back in Las Palmas, Hugh took her to his doctor who said “Poppycock” and diagnosed colitis.
During the night, Ramon, whose crew had found lodgings in the village, went adrift and when found and towed back, had lost a jumper strut, and had to have her mast lowered and be eventually towed all the way home to Las Palmas by a power boat.
In the morning we went ashore again and had a look at the village. It consisted of 30 or 40 adobe huts, with a church and a mission run by nuns. I don’t think they had had as many visitors at one time before, ever. Beyond the village were bare, brown, arid mountains, and beyond that we were told, is desert for 20 or 30 miles. The beach would be beautiful if it weren’t for the village refuse dumped on it. From the boat it looked lovely.
We spent the day swimming and beachcombing (away from the village), and in the evening went ashore again for a meal. This time all the boys were quieter, and we were able to get a better picture of the rest of the race. The winner was Lady Ann, Vendaval was 2nd, Barracuda having blown out 2 genoas, was 3rd , Alondra 4th, Tirma 5th, Gran Canaria 6th , Ramon 7th, Coronado 8th, Mistral 9th, Esperanza 10th, Almerica 11th, Stella Mira 12th, and Willeca 13th. Atlantis retired. Both Lady Ann and Barracuda had recorded force 9 on their anenometers coming through the rough patch. On Willeca, Willie, the Swede had gone below to nurse a bad hangover. The two Polish brothers, who claimed that they had been professional yacht skippers in Denmark, took the boat so far north, that the escort vessel was said to have spent hours searching for it. They arrived sometime during the night.
On this 2nd evening, most of the skippers, said that they would start for home well reefed, and take their time. All, but the Barracuda had been gone 15 minutes when we pulled up the anchor and with working jib and the main reefed to the 1st cringles we worked our way back to the lighthouse. The wind was nowhere near as strong as before, and in the few bad gusts we eased our sheets and kept going. Once past the lighthouse, we settled down to a steady force 5 again, and though using much less sail area, we took about 1½ hours less on the return trip, sailing really comfortably. Apart from Hugh nose diving into the stew, and getting it all over the galley ceiling and in his hair, when we were hit by a bad sea, all was plain sailing. We passed 4 boats on the way home. It seems that the extremes of calm and storm that we met off Jandia, are quite normal for the southern coasts of most of the islands here. Anyway, it was all good experience.
I think that with normal racing inventory, and a clean bottom, we would have put up a much better show. The effects of our extra weight, were most apparent in the calms off Morro Jable, in which conditions, I believe Stella’s would normally excel.
He bundled about 8 of us inside, and off we went, bouncing along the dirt road at 50 mph swerving every few yards to avoid boulders. We off loaded at the hotel, and the taxi went back for the others. The hotel was a single story hacienda style building, complete with swimming pool and all the trimmings. It was set in the middle of nowhere, was German owned and catered for German tourists, who came there for a quiet peaceful time. They certainly didn’t get it that night, or the next.
Penny and Ann Bayldon, were the only women to come on the race. The local yachtsmen seldom take female crews, regarding this type of race as an excuse for a stag party. In any case the stripped club boats would be too uncomfortable for the average women. Perhaps that’s why they strip them; the party was still going on when we left, after having our meal. When we got back on board again it was nearly midnight.
Penny had been taken sick with violent stomach pains towards the end of the race and still had them when we went ashore. One of the Spanish boats belonged to a doctor, (a specialist from the Las Palmas hospital) and he examined Penny at the hotel, diagnosed acute appendicitis and recommended that she transfer to the naval vessel and go home in that. As it was too choppy to transfer, she stayed in bed and gradually recovered (when we were back in Las Palmas, Hugh took her to his doctor who said “Poppycock” and diagnosed colitis.
During the night, Ramon, whose crew had found lodgings in the village, went adrift and when found and towed back, had lost a jumper strut, and had to have her mast lowered and be eventually towed all the way home to Las Palmas by a power boat.
In the morning we went ashore again and had a look at the village. It consisted of 30 or 40 adobe huts, with a church and a mission run by nuns. I don’t think they had had as many visitors at one time before, ever. Beyond the village were bare, brown, arid mountains, and beyond that we were told, is desert for 20 or 30 miles. The beach would be beautiful if it weren’t for the village refuse dumped on it. From the boat it looked lovely.
We spent the day swimming and beachcombing (away from the village), and in the evening went ashore again for a meal. This time all the boys were quieter, and we were able to get a better picture of the rest of the race. The winner was Lady Ann, Vendaval was 2nd, Barracuda having blown out 2 genoas, was 3rd , Alondra 4th, Tirma 5th, Gran Canaria 6th , Ramon 7th, Coronado 8th, Mistral 9th, Esperanza 10th, Almerica 11th, Stella Mira 12th, and Willeca 13th. Atlantis retired. Both Lady Ann and Barracuda had recorded force 9 on their anenometers coming through the rough patch. On Willeca, Willie, the Swede had gone below to nurse a bad hangover. The two Polish brothers, who claimed that they had been professional yacht skippers in Denmark, took the boat so far north, that the escort vessel was said to have spent hours searching for it. They arrived sometime during the night.
On this 2nd evening, most of the skippers, said that they would start for home well reefed, and take their time. All, but the Barracuda had been gone 15 minutes when we pulled up the anchor and with working jib and the main reefed to the 1st cringles we worked our way back to the lighthouse. The wind was nowhere near as strong as before, and in the few bad gusts we eased our sheets and kept going. Once past the lighthouse, we settled down to a steady force 5 again, and though using much less sail area, we took about 1½ hours less on the return trip, sailing really comfortably. Apart from Hugh nose diving into the stew, and getting it all over the galley ceiling and in his hair, when we were hit by a bad sea, all was plain sailing. We passed 4 boats on the way home. It seems that the extremes of calm and storm that we met off Jandia, are quite normal for the southern coasts of most of the islands here. Anyway, it was all good experience.
I think that with normal racing inventory, and a clean bottom, we would have put up a much better show. The effects of our extra weight, were most apparent in the calms off Morro Jable, in which conditions, I believe Stella’s would normally excel.
As you can see from the picture everyone gets a cup for participating. Sim is 3rd from the right at the back.
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