IN THE FOG

The Rock on arrival


The next step was Gibraltar. It took us 142nm of motor sailing, with an unpleasant rolling motion, which at times made me wonder, why was I in a boat? Sleeping most of the time, apart from my watch, did not improve the situation. Captain got bored and lonely. I wonder about the Atlantic crossing… There was a 2 knot current against us about 30 miles before the rock. As we saw Gibraltar, so many large ships appeared. It was like the M25 on a bad day. It is an extremely busy narrow channel. We might have had right of way but we did not argue and gave them a wide berth. The bubbling sea was reminiscent of the Straights of Messina between Italy and Sicily
“Unless there is an exodus of boats, there is no room in the Marina” blasted the reply on Channel 71, to our request for a berth. We anchored on the Spanish side, where many other boats, particularly British, were moored. Many looked as if they had not moved for years, with the Skippers’ facial hair matching the growth under the hulls.

The cloud over the rock gave it a mysterious look. The air was moist and rather chilly. It almost felt like England in August. It even smelt differently to the Med. Now we had to think of tides…….

We woke up the next morning to the sound of horns and thick fog. After careful deliberation as to wind direction, and calculation of tidal charts, we decided we had to leave that morning or risk been held back for perhaps a week.
We said Goodbye to the Med. and entered the straight in thick fog groping our way by radar. We felt almost cheated and let down. The momentous occasion was taken up by very careful navigation, hugging the Spanish coast to be out the path of large ships.
We turned North without a glance of Morocco or its shadow.