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Mark Wade's Atlantic crossing in Kittiwake - Extracted from news sent back by Mark

Algarve to Porto Santo, Madeira and Gran Canaria

Two thousand miles down and six to go. Kittiwake is now safely moored in Las Palmas, the start point for the Atlantic crossing to St Lucia later this year. The passages from Lagos, southern Portugal, out into the Atlantic to the islands of Porto Santo, Madeira and Gran Canaria provided fine sailing, stunning landfalls and great companionship. Calms, then steady north easterlies, rolling swells, brooding night skies and the deep, deep blue of ocean waters provided an ever changing backdrop. It is strange how small and alone even a Westerly Ocean 49 can feel as dusk gathers over lowering cloud and a rising wind when you are hundreds of miles out from land.

This was the first experience for any of us of true ocean sailing. On board we had my son James, Brian Benjamin of NYC fresh back from cruising the Med, and Chris Snook and his 16 year old son Leo. Even though we left Lagos in brilliant sunshine and light airs each of us felt that we were stepping into the unknown. Not the unknown of new waters, where we were going is well travelled, but into the unknown within ourselves. We had a well founded vessel and a great crew but this was a step up from anything we had done before in terms of self reliance. No rally support crew on land to consult, nor the comfort of knowing there are two dozen familiar yachts not far away. We need not have been concerned. The weather was kind and the passages uneventful save for a sheared bolt on the autopilot. A night of helming in a strong breeze, until we got to master the Hydrovane self-steering gear the next day, was only a minor inconvenience.

A 12M bolt procured on Madeira served as a temporary repair to the autopilot for the rest of the trip. James did a great job of fitting this by squeezing himself deep into the stern lazarette like Houdini. More of a trial was a blocked loo, sticky decks and a couple of litres of rancid butter sloshing around the bilges.

Everyone has a blocked loo horror story to tell so nothing new there. Suffice to say that new plumbing and an electric pump are being fitted as I write. The sticky deck was a real shock. Kittiwake has teak decks and some wretched person had chosen to repair some of the worn black caulking during previous ownership. The compound used was hard in the cold climes of the English Channel but it turned to black goo in the 35c of an Algarve August day. The first we knew about it was when we found the soles of our feet and trouser seats spotted like dalmatians. In no time the black stuff was on the carpet and cushions. Quick thinking by James led to a frenzy of gaffer taping over the offending spots. Kittiwake looks as though she is being held together by sticking plaster - but it worked and the deck is now receiving proper attention.

The rancid butter only came to light on the third day when Brian and I were commissioning the water-maker, which is positioned under the aft berth. On taking up the boards I was horrified to find litres of what at first looked like diesel puddled under the reserve fuel tank that shares the compartment. Had we got a serious leak? No. On close sniffing and poking we declared incredulously that it was melted butter. Again some wretch of a previous owner had left a can of butter in the bilges that had corroded and ushered forth its unctuous contents under my bed! This I hope was the last of series of his time bombs of exploding chilli chicken and minced beef that had gone off before. Funny what surveys miss isn’t it!

But to more wondrous tales. The highlight of the trip was the landfall on Porto Santo. We were five days out from Lagos and pushing on hard, motor sailing to beat nightfall. We wanted to get in that night so we could have a full day exploring the island before dropping down to Madeira. Where was the island? Surely we should be able to see its rocky peaks by now. The charts said the island was dead ahead. The GPS confirmed it but in the low cloud and haze we had no sight of it. Could we be wrong? Had we passed it and were we now heading out into 3000 miles of open ocean? Strange what thoughts go through your head at such times. Then James’s mobile phone sprang into life. Next we picked up a landmass ahead on the radar and shortly thereafter the first sight of a faint shadow on the horizon. As we approached the haze cleared and like an epic biblical drama the clouds parted to reveal shafts of light boiling off the water and drilling down the steep rocky sides of the island. We had arrived.

The stark beauty of the island revealed itself in all its majesty and mystery as we rounded the barren north eastern point and ran down to the ferry port and marina on the south side. We are clearly of the modern age when landfalls are detected by microwaves rather than proclaimed by the exultant cry of ‘land ahoy’ from the cross trees - but the thrill of navigating successfully to a spec in the ocean is no less.

We were pleased we had pushed on hard as Porto Santo, just 25 miles north of Madeira, is a delight. It boasts the longest sandy beach in Europe, which takes up most of the south coast of this tiny island. A two hour bus drive with lots of stops for photo shoots is all it takes to get right around it. Barren to the north east and wooded in the centre its chic town and villages - and that beach - make it a holiday destination for Madeirans who flood over on the daily ferry. A spanking day sail in brilliant sunshine, warm winds and accompanied by dolphins brought us to Madeira. The final run down to the marina of Quinta do Lorde provided the only beat to windward of the whole trip.

We stayed 10 days on Madeira where we sadly said good bye to Brian after two days who had to get back. My wife Cheryl joined for us for the holiday sightseeing as did Chris’s wife Julia. A car is almost essential for getting around this amazing island. Savage north facing cliffs are topped with semi tropical vegetation and beaten at their feet by heavy swells. Towering volcanic peaks rise above the clouds and levadas (ancient irrigation channels built by slaves to serve the sugar plantations) provide gentle strolls through deep woodland glades. Flowers abound. The island is a botanical wonderland. The city of Funchal is a flourishing centre with its port, vegetable and fish markets, cable car to Montes, museums and of course Blandy’s famous Maderia wine lodge. Hic! The infrastructure of massive complex of tunnels and viaducts that carry the roads around and through the island are truly stunning – now you know where stacks of our EU money has gone!

The only negative of the trip was incurred on leaving Quinta do Lorde marina. Nestled in the raw volcanic cliffs it can suffer from strong cross winds that shriek around the headland. On leaving the pontoon a 20 knot gust hit us side on. In the tight confines I was unable to stop us getting caught in the bow roller of an old launch that snapped a davit strop and we also sustained a hull scratch on the bathing platform of another yacht. Bad luck? Maybe, but I’m sure I should have done better. We tied-up again to the visitor’s wharf and ensured no damage had been caused to other vessels. This though left us pinned broadside on by what was now a very solid Force 5 gusting 6 and the fenders were getting a major pounding. In the meantime Cheryl had departed for the UK and Leo was on his way to his hotel for the night before also flying back. Eventually, with some nifty rope work and a very positive dash astern, we ran clear of the jetty and set off on the 285 miles south to Las Palmas.

This was Julia’s first experience of deep sea sailing and she showed great character in adapting to life aboard and standing watches under Chris’s expert tutelage. As we left we passed the Islas Desertas to port, Mars-like in their rosy barren loneliness. These rarely visited desert islands that form part of the archipelago are clearly visible from Madeira on a good day. The next day we sighted the even more remote Salvengen islands that lie 150 miles south on the rum line down to Gran Canaria. We gave them a wide berth due to outlying peaks and in any event a permit is needed before visiting this designated nature reserve.

On the third afternoon we arrived in a stiff breeze off Las Palmas situated on the north east tip of Gran Canaria. Julia dodged ferries and massive container ships coming and going from this major port before we tied-up on the Texaco pontoon to top-up on fuel and await notice of our berth. A week sight-seeing with Cheryl returned left us with mixed feelings about the island. The fumes and bustle of Las Palmas made Funchal seem village like. The island shows its best character well away from the beach resorts of the south in the old towns and villages of the hinterland. From the savagely beautiful and barren south west coast the wind acceleration zone was clearly visible. The sea was whipped-up to a froth, whereas 20 miles to the north calmer waters prevailed. This served as notice on the challenges to come on leaving for St Lucia in November when Kittiwake’s ‘Atlantic islands adventure’ continues. More of that in future NYC News.

Mark Wade - Kittiwake

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Page last updated:  09/12/2007 1:22:52 PM